Lone Wolf
by CallMeHannah
Summary: *Sequel to "Red Christmas"* Red John is dead and gone; but the aftershocks can still be felt. The body of a young girl is found in woodland close to Sacramento; but the case is too much to bear for one individual. From Jane's point of view. Thanks for reading!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1.**

At last, spring has come to Sacramento; bringing with it warmer nights, early sunrises and days filled with flowers in bloom. I lie in bed, the thin duvet lazily hanging over the edge, almost touching the floor. The window is open, letting in the cool air and fragrant odours from the garden. As ever, the night is silent and all is calm. My eyes droop as I doze; it is sometime around 2 am, but without a buzz from either of our phones, we can afford to relax. Cases have become less frequent in our lives; maybe people are learning of the repercussions of killing someone, I just hope that it lasts; it isn't that not solving cases and putting bad guys away isn't fun, but every case is taxing both physically and emotionally; missed meals drain us of our bodies' resources, late nights keep our brains in overtime. How people can spend twenty or more years on the job is beyond me; no, more than that, it amazes me. But people pay the price when they retire; brains become sluggish after all those late nights surveying witness statements, stomachs bulge with the significant increase of food and lack of exercise. Hobbies become useless and boring; nothing can replace that rush of arresting the person who has ruined so many lives.

Last Christmas, I didn't have the pleasure of doing that to Red John, or who was respected in our neck of the woods as CBI Director Gale Bertram. I shot him in the neck and now, the world has one less villain to deal with. Whether that makes me feel jubilant or not has yet to be determined; I certainly won't miss him, but the _thrill _of the chase and the cryptic clues, I guess I'll miss them. There certainly won't be another killer like him; if it wasn't for what happened to Angela and Charlotte; I would even go as far to say that the pursuit for him was somewhat interesting and engaging. But, he is gone, and there is nothing else that he can do to us. It is still peculiar to say aloud that Red John is dead, but like he said, "all things must come to an end." And with endings come new beginnings.

I roll over to find an empty space behind me, an imprint in the mattress has gone cold with the lack of body heat to keep it warm. This is the second time this week that this space has been vacated at this time. There is a quiet nose that comes from outside the bedroom door and a strip of light glows from the space underneath the door. She is up again. As quietly as I can, I slip from underneath the quilt and move to the door that has been left ajar; placing my eye in the gap, I see a figure move from the kitchen to the sofa. As quiet as a mouse, she curls up on the end, bringing her knees up against her chest and resting a mug on top of them. For a minute, I watch Teresa from the bedroom; she quietly sits and sips her beverage, occasionally blowing on it to cool it down. A couple of time she lightly rubs the burn on her hand that she received when triggering an explosive that Red John made: he scarred me mentally, but Teresa physically. Giving a little sigh, I leave my hiding place to join her.

"How goes the night, my little owl?" I ask her.

Startled, she quickly turns to face me, her emerald green eyes open wide, staring at me with an intensity that – as the saying goes - if looks could kill, I wouldn't be standing here right now.

"Sorry," she immediately apologises, "I didn't mean to wake you, I didn't think that I was so loud."

"You weren't," I tell her, honestly, "I just woke up to find you were not there, are you alright?" I approach her slowly as one would do with a frightened animal.

"Yeah," she smiles, before pausing for a millisecond, "I was just thirsty, that's all," she answers, holding up her cup to show me.

"At two in the morning?" I begin to unwisely poke little holes in her answer, "you've never usually gotten up at this hour."

"I was just thirsty, Jane," she snaps, before removing her feet off the sofa, "sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"Are you okay?" I ask her again, I know that she isn't telling me the truth; but knowing Lisbon, it will be a battle to get any kind of honest reply from her anyway.

"I'm good," she stands as I sit down beside her, "do you want a drink?"

The light from the single lamp captures her worn down face and her thin figure; I have noticed that she has been skipping meals, but not that much; the break from the CBI has had the opposite effect on her.

"Don't worry about that," I answer, "sit down Teresa."

Gingerly, she returns to her seat; I place my arm around her, lightly gripping the loose fitting pyjama top sleeve; she leans on my shoulder and closes her eyes.

"If something is wrong, you will tell me, right?"

"Of course I will," she replies after another millisecond.

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

"Good," I plant a kiss on the top of her head, "please come back to bed."

Wearily, she nods and leans forward, placing her cup on the table. We stand together, my arm staying firmly around her shoulders; I feel that if I move it, she will sink down to the floor. We walk back to the bedroom where I feel comfortable enough to release my arms from around her. She grabs the quilt from the floor – it must have slipped off after I left – and she climbs onto the now stone cold mattress and curls up into a ball. I retreat to my side, finding it unusually spacious, as normally, there is one of Teresa's limbs sprawled over here somewhere.

"Teresa," I softly call over to her.

"Mmm," she murmurs, half muffled by the folds of the king size duvet.

I wiggle over and find her amongst the sheets, "come here."

I wrap my arms around her and she sags into my embrace, burying her head against my neck; I hold her tight and rest my chin on top of her head. Something is not right, ever since Christmas, she has been quiet, subdued. Even after the… It's not right to dwell on that now. Automatically, my eyes roam over to find the photo sitting in its silver frame on the chest of drawers, moonlight from the window shines directly on it, as if intentionally reminding me of that day. The day that there were no murders that we had to solve, the days where death was far from both of our minds, the day that… I loosen my grip a little; knowing from the faint body movements and relaxed breaths that breeze against my bare chest that Teresa has fallen asleep. Being like she was outside, I thought that it would take her a while for her to dose off; yet again, she has surprised me, and that is something that she will never stop doing. Years ago, I would have been afraid to admit this, but I love this woman with all my heart and I don't think that I will ever stop loving her. With her resting beside me, I too drift off into a deep sleep.

Memories return like an unruly plague to haunt my nights. We're back up that mountain, but this time, we are being led by Red John through the snow, our hands bound tightly with heavy chains which chaff our skin. He is shrouded in a black cloak, looking suspiciously like an identical twin to Death himself. The bite of the cold slows our movements, but he is relentless and hauls us along, up the mountain through the knee deep snow; Teresa and I struggle, but he parts the snow with ease, like Moses with the Red sea. Every mile or so, we pass the body of a familiar face; at first, they were all his first victims, but as we climb, they become more and more familiar. We reach the summit, and are greeted by an open blue sky with hardly a cloud in sight; standing firmly in the snow is a giant tree with five bodies gently swinging from one of the branches. Nothing is said, but from this distance, I can tell that they are the bodies of Cho, Fitz, Rigsby, Van Pelt and Willis. Red John drops the chain in the snow; we try to pull free, but it weighs what feels like a thousand tonnes. He approaches us and places two rope nooses around our necks.

"Let's play," he smirks from behind his mask.

He removes the chains from around Lisbon's wrists and leads her over to the tree; no matter how hard I struggle, I cannot break free and save her. In one swift movement, he…I can't say it… now he approaches me, there is no point in trying to break free, and like a puppy with its master, I follow him and he hauls me up. The rope around my neck gets tighter and tighter…I can't breathe!

Sweating like crazy, I sit bolt upright in bed; my hair sticks to my head as if I have been out in a sudden downpour and my breaths are heavy, like that dream was real. The sunlight pouring in through the window reassures me that we are not at that horrible place, that what happened wasn't real…but the one again vacant space beside me doesn't calm me completely.

"Teresa?" I call out, hoping for some sort of reply.

There isn't one. Suddenly, footfalls patter their way to the door and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Don't do that, you scared me," I sigh, smiling a little.

But the figure in the doorway is not that of Teresa Lisbon; it is of a man, dressed in all black, a knife in his hand with blood dripping slowly off the blade.

"Sorry Patrick," he answers, stepping forward to reveal a disfigured face, not one that I recognise, "Teresa's a little busy right now."

With superhuman speed, he bolts round the bed and pins me down, holding the knife against my throat.

"Time to sleep forever, Patrick," he sneers, before sliding the knife across my throat.

I sit bolt upright in bed, not bathed in sweat like last time. Moonlight still bathes us in silver light from outside; I pinch myself to make sure that this is real.

"Ow," I automatically say as I leave a red mark on my arm. From the bedside table, the clock's red digits confirm the time of 4:04 am.

_It was just a nightmare_, I tell myself, _it wasn't real_.

Rolling over, I find the space next to me vacant.

"Damn it Teresa," I softly curse and rise to find her.

Once again, she has perched herself on the edge of the sofa, cup in hand, slowly rocking to and fro. I quietly approach her.

"I couldn't sleep," she tells me before I have a chance to open my mouth, "plus you were writhing like crazy."

"Nightmares," I answer shortly.

"You and me both," she sighs, "what was yours about?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I reply, hoping that she wouldn't press the matter.

"Now who's deflecting?" She points out, raising an eyebrow.

"I…they were about…bah never mind," I push those horrific images from my mind, "refill?" I ask, seeing that her cup is empty.

"Yeah, please," she hands me the cup, "looks like neither of us will be sleeping now;" her comment is disheartening.

"We will, it'll just take time," I tell her.

"Don't bother asking if you can hypnotise me again, we both know that it won't work."

"Hey, you were drugged that time," I counter playfully, "my hypnosis works perfectly well, thank you."

I hand her the third cup of the day; she nods a "thank you" at me.

"You're not having any?"

"No, I'm going back to bed," I yawn, "are you coming?"

She shakes her head.

"Okay," I answer, and I head back into the bedroom on my own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2.**

The sunlight fills the room with a gorgeous amber glow; the time is 6:24 am and I've managed to sleep without any interruption. Dragging myself from the comfort of the bed, I rise from the soft pillows and feel my way to the shower – luckily avoiding stubbing my toes on any furniture, where I undress and climb into the cubical. The sharp downpour of cold water that suddenly spurts from the shower head washes away all the tiredness from my body,_ god, that hypnosis did the trick_. I quickly scrub myself with lemon body wash and wash the suds from my skin; next, I rub shampoo into my hair and rinse it clean before turning it off and ravelling myself in a towel, tying it around my waist. Feeling a lot better, I return to the bedroom and retrieve a shirt and suit from the distressed looking wardrobe. I rub myself dry with the towel and dress in my usual attire. Pulling up my trousers, I notice that they are a little slack around the waist, like Lisbon, I too have been losing weight; the shirt is a little loose fitting as well. I find a belt in one of the drawers and wrap it around, tucking in the shirt too to hide the half an inch gap between it and my skin. Unfortunately, there is nothing that I can do about the waistcoat and jacket, but they don't look too bad…I think. A quick glance in the mirror confirms my worst fear; I look like a boy in his father's suit. Regretfully, I remove the two layers of clothing and stand in front of the mirror, in a shirt and trousers. I smirk at the thought that no-one will notice. But change is good, I guess. Leaving the bedroom like I feel naked, I find Teresa in the same spot, asleep. The cup has been left on the coffee table and she has a throw covering her.

_It'd be best not to wake her_, my brain tells me, so I lean over to kiss her softly, before finding my car keys and phone in their usual place and leaving the house, closing the door softly. They'll be hell to pay later when Teresa realises that I've left without her, but she needs the rest and I need the time alone, besides, the new head of the CBI is making his rounds today, like he does on every Thursday, and it's best not to see her like this. Lack of sleep plus little food equals one grumpy Lisbon; trust me, I know. My faithful blue Citroen starts up first time; before I pull away, I wind down the window, my hair will dry faster if it's open, but it also lets in the concoction of the spring flowers and morning dew. The clock on the dash strikes 7 o'clock and I pull away, glad that there hasn't been a call to say that we have a case.

The drive to the CBI building is quite long, but relaxing as the traffic slows down and speeds up gradually. Songs on the radio play quietly in the background of my thoughts; it is unusual for a case to freak both Lisbon and I out, especially one that happened about three months ago; we should be over it by now. The Red John connection plus the stuff that Lisbon went through must still haunt her, that burn still hurts from time to time and the dreams like the one last night still keep me awake. It's hard to say that he can't hurt us anymore; but it's a lot harder to put it behind us. Especially since the investigation is ongoing. Our superiors still question our actions; to why I had a gun and why Rigsby and Van Pelt were there, but we have our own questions, such as 'how did Bertram maintain his position of the CBI whilst being the serial killer?' Goodness knows how he spent so many years at the top without letting on that he was Red John. Needless to say, our new boss had his whole life investigated before being handed the title of Director of the CBI. On top of all this, the media found out about his real identity and they're all having a field day; the CBI is having severe publicity issues as well as the public having little faith in us. It's taking its toll on all of us, but especially Teresa, as a senior agent and being a part of the Red John Investigation, she's being criticised as incompetent, which is completely untrue. Bertram was one step ahead of us the whole time, it wasn't until the list that we counted him as a suspect and even then we were on thin ice. We had to work within the rules to catch the man who made them and that is what people don't understand.

Approaching the gates, a horde of reporters are nestled up to the railings, cameras snapping constantly like a million Morse code messages. The barrier lifts up and allows me into the car park, but shuts to keep the hounds at bay, for now at least. Cho, Molly and Charlie's cars are all parked in their usual spaces along the far side of the lot; there is a vacant spot between Cho's and Fitz's, so that it where I park up and head up to the main entrance. The building is pretty empty for this time of the day, so it doesn't take me long to reach the Serious Crimes floor. As soon as the doors open, I can tell that there is something happening. Walking around to the bullpen, a crowd has gathered around a single figure, each member listens intently to their addresser.

"As you well know, this is my weekly visit to each department. I assure you that I do not mean to disrupt your work, but to tell you that I am here to listen to you and your thoughts. I'm not hiding anything, I want you to be able to trust me," he smiles, "ah, Mr Jane," he turns towards me, "please come and join our discussion."

Out of politeness, I take a few steps closer to the circle, trying to look like I am paying attention to Director James Baker and ignoring all of the odd stares from around the room. Baker clears his throat before continuing on his speech about importance of teamwork and that sort of stuff. I study him closely; James Baker is in his late 40's, his brown hair reminds me of Luther, he is slender but has kept some of the muscle from his youth, something about him screams 'football player', once more, it's rumoured that he began his CBI career in this very unit. He seems genuine enough, though he is obsessed with order and openness; giving him his due, he is right about the no secrets thing; but there is something that I don't want to become public knowledge or bullpen banter. He doesn't fully trust us, but with only a month on the job, who can blame him?

"So," he wraps up, "you know where to find me if you need to talk. You're all free to go." The group breaks up into smaller parties, each trailing off to their own territory within the bullpen; the first person that I encounter from Lisbon's team is Charlie Fitz, who is sitting at his desk, opposite Cho's.

"Hey Jane," there is something off about his demeanour, "you okay?" he asks.

"Sure, never better, why do you ask?" I answer; he is not going to learn about the turmoil that both Lisbon and I are in at the moment.

"No jacket, no waistcoat; you don't look like yourself," he replies, as bluntly as could be.

"The weather's a lot better today," I briefly glance out of the large windows to the left of us, "I thought that it'd be nice to leave them at home."

"Oh okay," he answers, quickly losing interest in the subject.

"So, any new cases for us, or are we just sitting here, twiddling our thumbs?"

"Nothing yet," he reaches for the mug and gulps down the remainder of the beverage, "but there is something that I need to speak to you about," he lowers his tone instantly, "about what happened at Christmas."

I nod towards the break room where I head; Fitz follows my lead, bringing his empty cup along with him. The time has come for the morning cup of tea. The ritual is as ever important as the tea itself; first, kettle is filled and turned on to boil; next, the cup is found in its usual place: beside the sink after it was rinsed out last night – everyone knows by now that the cup is not moved overnight; after that, the tea bag is placed inside and when the kettle has boiled, the water is generously poured, stopping when it hits an invisible line that only can be seen in my mind. The teabag is removed when it has hit the right shade of green on the colour spectrum.

"That stuff stinks," Charlie comments as he joins me after quickly refilling his mug with coffee from the pot.

"No it doesn't," I counter, before inhaling the scent, "so what about _Christmas_?"

"The investigation is well underway as you know, but there are some things that I don't understand," he pauses, lowering his tone even more, "and if I'm asking them, then the people up there" – he points upwards – "are going to be asking them too."

"Like what?" I ask, taking a sip of the perfectly made tea.

"Like 'why was Lisbon targeted?'; 'why did it happen so suddenly?', that sort of thing."

I shrug; "Bertram targeted Teresa to shake us all up – if he could get to her, then he could get to any one of us; and once in a while, he would pop back into the picture. He gave us a list of possible suspects too, that explains some of it."

"You don't think that he…he targeted the boss because of you and her, y'know…"

"Maybe, that could have triggered it," I answer honestly, "Bertram had been watching us closely in the months leading up to then."

"You know what I think," he begins, "I don't think that he wanted you to be happy. He was obsessed with you, if you were happy, then he couldn't be."

"It makes sense, I guess," I consider his argument, "but whatever his motive, it won't affect us now, he's dead," putting it so bluntly, it is refreshing to remind myself that he really is gone.

"I know," he answers, "but still…it's going to hard to come to terms with it for a while," he looks up sheepishly, "I know that I've only been here a mere fraction of the time that he was around but…"

"Jane, Fitz!" Cho calls out to us before appearing in the doorway.

"What's up Cho?" Charlie asks him quizzically.

"Park Rangers have found a body in woodland near here," he informs us, before looking around, "where's the boss?"

"Errm…she's not feeling very well," I answer.

"Oh, okay," is Cho's reply.

"So, the body?" I prompt him after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Oh right, unidentified female; late teens they said, but until we get there, we won't know," he replies.

"Hey folks," Molly strides in as happy as can be and heads straight for the kettle.

"No time for tea Molly," Charlie matches her enthusiasm, "we've got a case."

Instantly, her demeanour changes and she gives him confused look; "someone's dead Fitz," she answers steadily, "why are you so happy?"

He pauses, before silently passing her and walking out of the door.

"What's with him?" she asks.

Cho and I shrug at her in unison; she rescues her travel mug from the sink and cleans it out before turning on the kettle and dropping a tea bag into the cup. Cho leaves, I'm guessing, to find Charlie.

"Mr Jane."

I turn on my heels to face my addresser: Director Baker.

"Director Baker," I reply respectfully, "what can I do for you?"

"A quick word before you leave and take care of other matters," he smiles, nodding towards Cho and the rest of the assembled team.

"Of course," I answer; I have no plans to start off on the wrong foot with this guy.

"Fantastic," he gives me a toothy grin, "now, I want to talk to you about Agent Lisbon."

I keep my tone neutral; if he found out about us then we'd be screwed; the CBI has relaxed its rules on relationships between colleagues, but that doesn't mean that Teresa and I want it to be public knowledge; "what about Agent Lisbon, sir?"

"She is absent, is she not?" he looks around as if to emphasize his point.

"She's not feeling very well this morning," I tell him the same thing that I told the rest.

"Oh, pity," he answers, "I hope that she gets well soon. Have you seen her today then, at home I mean?"

"Yes sir," I bite the bullet and tell him; "we live together. After the fire last year at her apartment, she hasn't managed to find another place to live and I had a spare room."

"Well Mr Jane, that's very kind of you," he tells me, "next time you see her, tell her to get well soon."

"I will," I promise.

"Good, now I'll leave you be," he answers and leaves the break room.

I breathe a sigh of relief and join the others out in the bullpen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3.**

The weather outside is beautiful at this time of year, spring has definitely arrived. The rivers of flowers in full bloom at the side of the road; my Citroën gliding over the warm tarmac stretch in front of us; it's beautiful…but there is one thing missing: Lisbon. She'd love it here, the fresh air would do us both good and the case would take her mind off of things. Nothing has been the same since _he _left us alone and that's not in a positive way either. Cho, Fitz and Willis may not have noticed it, but I certainly have. But enough of that for now, we have a case and that is all we need to focus on right now. We were told that the body was found in woodland; in fact, thinking about it, I'm glad that Teresa isn't here; it might trigger bad memories…of being taken to that place. No, not now.

As I round the corner, flashing blue and red lights pulsate in the distance, guiding both me and Cho (he's driving with the other two – apparently, "I'm not a careful driver") to what looks like a small car park beside the entrance to the wood. It's a picturesque place that overlooks a wide valley, the sky is a wonderful blue; it's a tragedy that someone was killed on such a fresh, spring day. Stepping out, my shirt gets caught in a breeze and the fabric is pushed against my skin, showing a dramatic loss in weight; as quick as I can, I pull it back out and act as if nothing has happened, I doubt anyone saw, but as they say, _better safe than sorry._

"Jane!" Cho calls over from his car, "this way," he points towards the treeline at the gathering of local law enforcement and park rangers in their similar uniforms. Nearby is an ambulance with a young officer sitting on the back step, a blanket is around his shoulders and he occasionally takes sips from a bottle of water.

"I'm guessing that's who found the body," I comment as I join the rest of the team.

"Yeah, poor kid," Molly sighs sympathetically, "his first day on the job, right?"

Cho nods.

"How'd you work that out?" Charlie asks.

"How old is he, 16, 17? And with a new uniform and polished boots? Clear giveaway," she looks at me as if to gain a seal of approval.

"Very observant," I tell her.

"Since when have you started to talk like him?" Charlie asks her whilst pointing at me.

"Since Jane solves most of _our _cases like that, I don't suppose that it's a bad thing to take a leaf out of his book," she cleverly retorts.

"Alright kids, settle down," Cho interrupts, stopping their squabbling with his authoritative tone of voice, "Molly, go and speak to him, get as much information as you can. Fitz, you come with me and Jane and search the crime scene."

And with that, Cho heads off to join the assembly of officers and rangers. Molly heads off but before Charlie follows Kimball, I place a hand on his shoulder and manage to stop him.

"Are you okay Charlie?" I ask him.

He seems to stare at me blankly for a moment, as if he is deciding whether to confide in me or not. He nods solemnly before heading off. I guess since the New Year, no-one has been exactly one hundred percent; Charlie has been a lot quieter than usual, Molly has been obsessed with trying to read people's body language and Cho…well, it's difficult to tell with him, but even he has shown signs of it. Of course, none of us talk about it, we're cops - well, they're cops, I like to tag along and pretend that I'm one – it's in our nature to keep our feelings to ourselves, it's always been that way and I'd expect it to continue like that. The emotion toll after the execution of Red John has affected us all; some more than others…

"Jane," Cho shouts, "c'mon, they're taking us to the scene."

Dragging my thoughts back into the present, I jog to catch up with the vanishing team of officers and agents alike.

After a ten minute walk through the beautiful and medieval-like woodland, we encounter the modern world a lot sooner than I would have liked; there is something about the mystical forests that cover California that fuels the imagination…saying that though, the crime scene… Surrounding the edge is a circle of boulders, all equidistant from each other.

"Looks like some ancient burial ground," Charlie observes, running his gloved hand over one of them.

Lying in the centre of this circle is the body; she is as beautiful in death as I imagine it was in life, her quite fair skin highlights her youthful features; a dark blue bandana holds back her light coloured hair that spills out over a pillow of leaf litter. Her hands rest on her stomach, a floral bouquet is clasped in her hands and she wears a powder blue shirt and navy sweater and a pair of skinny jeans; one of her Converse shoes is missing.

"She's so young," Fitz sighs, crouching down beside her, "do we have a cause of death?"

A man in a long white coat approaches the body, a lanyard attached to the pocket identifies him as Russell McKinnon; he looks to be an exuberant man, who is energetic in his youth but wise with the years he has under his belt.

"You must be agents from the CBI!" He beams at us, almost jumping for joy.

"Yes," Cho answers in his usual blunt tone, "I'm Agent Cho, this is Agent Fitz and Patrick Jane."

"Mr Jane," he turns towards me, "I've heard a lot of things about you."

"All good I hope," I answer, really hoping that they were.

"Yes," he nods, "well, your reputation precedes you."

Fitz coughs to cover his smirk and even Cho smiles.

"Glad to hear it," I reply, "so, the girl?" I quickly divert his attention, as well as Kimball's and Charlie's, back to the case in hand.

"Ah yes," his enthusiasm fades, "poor girl. I estimate that the time of death for the victim is somewhere between 9 and 12 last night; I can narrow it down further once I get her to the lab."

"Any idea who she is?" Charlie asks, "is she a local? We passed a town a few miles back."

"No, but we can search the missing persons' database; hopefully somebody reported her missing," Cho tells us.

"I don't see any bullet or knife wounds or any signs of strangulation, what would you say killed her?" Charlie carefully and respectfully examines her body.

"Ah, here," with gloved hands, McKinnon gently lifts the girl's head and reveals a deep wound that was hidden by her hair, "blunt force trauma."

"Any idea what could do this?"

"I don't want to assume anything until I make a cast of it and examine it closely when we get her back to the morgue."

I take a sharp intake of breath before pausing: there is a distinctive odour in the air.

"Can anyone else smell that?" I bend down beside Fitz and sniff harder, before looking underneath her arm.

"What is it Jane?" Cho asks, coming in for a closer look.

"Charlie, could you just…?" I lift up my arms to show him what to do - he has gloves on and I don't - there is no way I'm going to accidentally contaminate a crime scene…again. Gently, he raises her arm and I point at the sleeve.

"We're not here to play 'Twenty Questions', Jane," Kimball impatiently tells me, "what is it?"

"The bottom of the sleeve is wet," I answer.

"Yeah, what are you getting at?" Charlie joins in.

"Russell, what was the weather like last night?" I ask the medical examiner.

"Warm, very warm, I had to keep my bedroom window open…" he trails off, realising that he was going off on a tangent, "it wasn't raining, that's for sure."

"So, how did her clothes get wet?"

"Hang on," Fitz takes a deep breath, "do you smell bleach?"

I nod to him, affirming his observation. Cho, and then McKinnon, takes a deep breath and both of them seem to notice the faint smell of bleach.

"The killer tried to cover his tracks," McKinnon concludes, "it must've been very weak because the fabric has only dulled a little."

On second inspection, I notice that what he says is true.

"Then we should be able to find some trace DNA if we're lucky," Russell smiles, "if he went to the trouble of trying to destroy forensic evidence, then there must be something that he's worried about."

I look at the girl's face; she was left peacefully, the killer took his time to make sure that nothing was left behind; it tells me that he may have done something like this before or he enjoyed it.

"Is there anything else that you want to look at, or do you mind if we move the body?" McKinnon asks after thirty seconds or so.

Cho glances at Charlie and then me before turning to Russell; "take her," he tells him.

The medical examiner nods and beckons his colleagues over to prepare her for transit; one of the last road journeys in her life. Cho, Fitz and I retreat to the other side of the yellow tape to allow them to do their job; the local CSU also begins their sweep for the usual: fingerprints, footprints etc.

"C'mon guys," Cho addresses us, "there's nothing else that we can do; time to find Molly and get back to the bullpen."

"I'm going to make a quick trip somewhere," I reply, "I'll meet you back at base as soon as I can."

"I'm going to guess that that 'somewhere' is home, am I right?" Cho answers, not diverting his gaze from the combing of the crime scene.

I let my silence answer his question, and head off back to the cark park.

Driving back to the city, a dreading feeling begins to churn in my stomach; it's one thing to tell a victim's family the news of their loved one's death, but it's a lot harder when you tell parents about the death of their child. Nobody deserves to receive news like that and I'm not saying that because of Charlotte. It is the most painful thing for a parent to hear; you are supposed to protect your children and watch them grow up as you grow older…for her family, that'll never happen. It's a shame that someone so young has had that fate of an early death. I surely hope that whoever did this will get their comeuppance.

I slide the key into the lock and twist it slowly, the bolt slides to the right and the door is unlocked. I push the door and it opens reluctantly; it keeps jarring as if there is something stuck behind it.

"Lisbon?" I call out.

As before, and worryingly, there is no reply. I call out again and look through the inch or so wide gap between the door and the frame. In my line of sight is the hall way mirror, in its reflection is something that momentarily stops my heart beating and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

_This cannot be happening, this is a dream or vision of some kind…it's not possible. _

I close my eyes and open them, hoping that it is a dream…or a nightmare. On the wall, in blood, is a face mockingly smiling at me…a Red John smiley face!

As hard as I can, I push the door open.

Feeling quite sick, I rush in, almost slipping on the glitter like fragments of glass on the floor.

Looking down, I find a mixture of blood and a clear liquid.

My heart pounds nineteen to the dozen.

Close to the spillage on the floor is a handprint in blood…and then, a footprint is a few meters away…and then another… I follow the trail that leads to the bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and gently, I push it open, letting light flood in and replace the darkness. The light catches a pair of wide, green eyes that stare back at me. At first, I pause…waiting…waiting until they blink. _She's alive, _I tell myself and race over to Teresa. She shakes, her arms and clothes are covered in blood. Her eyes follow my every move; she watches me like a hawk.

"Teresa," I softly address her, "what happened?"  
Her eyes flicker with recognition and her lips faintly utter my name.

"Stay here, okay," I tell her, before I head off to find the first aid kit I keep in my bathroom.

When I return, she hasn't moved an inch. Gently, I coax her to sit on the edge of the bed so I can look at the full extent of her injuries.

"Was anyone else here?"

She shakes her head.

"What happened?" I ask as I crouch down beside her.

She shrugs, "I don't…know," a tear begins to fall down her cheek.

"Hey, hey," I try to comfort her as best I can, "it's okay."

"No, it's not," she answers, flinching as I use an antiseptic wipe to remove the blood from a gash on her arm, "what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," I tell her honestly, "there is nothing wrong with you."

"Then why can I not get that image out of my head?"

"What image?"

"The one I drew on the wall in the front room," she replies, her voice shaking.

I freeze for a second before continuing to remove the blood; "don't work about that now, let's just get you cleaned up."

"I'm a mess," she sighs.

"No you're not," I tell her again.

"Stop saying that," she sounds like herself again, "there is something wrong up here," she points towards her head.

"No," I put the wipe aside and take her hand in mind, "you're perfect, and you know that 'in sickness and in health' thing?"

She nods.

"Yeah, I meant that," I tell her and plant my lips on her forehead.

**A/N:** Hi guys! I will keep writing in bits and try to update as soon as I can; I've got a lot of coursework to do at the minute so it might be a while before the next chapter is posted. Thank you for reading this (I know that I may be getting annoying now!) so I do appreciate all the views and reviews.

Until then, my friends, I bid you farewell.

Thanks again,

CallMeHannah xxx


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4.**

Reluctantly, I had to leave her to return to the bullpen; she was fast asleep when I left her…but I wish I hadn't. She was terrified; I was so afraid to leave her…I still am, after what happened earlier, but she was adamant that she would be fine. It pains me to think that I don't fully believe her…

"You're late," Cho states in his usual blunt manner as I enter the bullpen, "we expected you over an hour ago; the whole team has been briefed on the latest developments, all except you."

"Sorry," I apologise as I head towards the already information-plastered murder board. There is a photo of the girl that was found this morning, but it is not a crime scene photo; this was taken at a happier time, she has an animated smile and bright blue eyes; a man and woman pose behind her, her parents. She has the same radiant smile as her mother but…

"Hey Jane, you want a cup of something?" Molly calls from across the bullpen as she emerges from underneath her desk.

"Yeah, that'd be great," I answer, as little confused as to what she was doing under there, "thanks."

"No worries," she clambers out and leaves the bullpen.

Cho has been standing as still as a statue since I came in: he's waiting for an explanation for my longer than planned absence; unluckily for him, he isn't getting the ins and outs of what Lisbon is going through at the moment, nor is Fitz or Willis, the last thing that she needs is gossip going around about her.

"Well, how's the boss?" Cho asks, as if he has grown tired of waiting.

"Not feeling too good," I answer truthfully, throwing him a bone, "she won't be in today."

"Does Baker know?"

"Not yet, but I'll put it on my 'to do' list."

"Right," he pauses and waits for Molly to re-enter with two mugs in her hands, "I'll leave Agent Willis to fill you in," he tells me coldly before making a swift exit.

"What's got into him?" I ask Willis, relieving her of my cup.

"Thanks," she smiles as she adjusts her grip on the other cup, "we managed to identify our victim as Olivia Matterson, she had just turned sixteen a couple of weeks ago."

"Poor girl," the comment comes out instinctively.

"Yeah, I had the pleasure of telling her parents, naturally, they were devastated," she removes the photo from the clip on the board, "she was their only daughter," Molly looks up from the photo and stares at me for a second before: "oh god Jane, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," I tell her, we've dealt with child cases before, this one will be no different.

"God, I'm an idiot!"

"Molly, it's alright, really."

"Why can't I just keep my trap shut…"

"Molly," I interrupt her little tangent.

"Yeah," her attention diverts back to reality.

"The case?" I prompt her.

"Oh right, yeah, of course, sorry," she flusters before taking a deep breath, "Olivia was last seen by her parents…" her eyes wander down to my hand and abruptly stops.

"Molly, please, can you just tell me what is going on?" I try to get her back on track.

"Oh my god!" she squeals, her voice seems to have gained an octave, a smile broadens on her face, "you and the boss got…"

"Ssh!" I stop her train of thought, before looking around to see if anyone else is on the same wagon, "come with me."

I lead her to Lisbon's office, which – as I had hoped – is empty and the blinds had been left drawn, excluding anyone from seeing and overhearing this conversation. As soon as the door closes, Molly suddenly starts to bounce up and down out of what I guess is excitement.

"Please tell me I'm right!" she beams ecstatically, "oh my god! Tell me the details! Where was it? When was it?" she pauses, "hey, why weren't we invited?"

"We just wanted a small ceremony," I tell her, "but no one can know yet."

"Please tell me you got photos, you have to show me them!"

My mind wanders back to the photo in the silver frame; one of three pieces of evidence that reminds me that that event actually took place.

"Molly, you have to promise me that you won't tell anyone," I remind her.

"Okay," her enthusiasm fades, "are you two…going through a rough patch?"

"What? No, not at all," even that seemed too much of an explanation.

"Damn it, I've done it again, haven't I?" she shakes her head, "I really do need to keep my nose out of other people's business."

"I have to ask, how did you know?"

She looks away, embarrassed.

"Well, I errm… I'm kind of trying to learn your methods of investigating; I saw the slight indentation on your ring finger," she nods towards my hand, "but something else is going on, isn't it?"

"Molly," I warn her, "now you're prying."

"No jacket, no waistcoat, loose shirt…" she continues on.

"Molly!" I have to stop her.

She stops and there is an awkward silence between us.

"Patrick," she begins.

"I'm fine…we're fine," I tell her, though I say it more to convince myself.

"Okay," she replies, "Olivia Matterson was last seen by her parents on the morning of the day she disappeared," her voice is slightly robotic, "her parents issued a missing person's report after she didn't come home from school."

"Did they phone her friends' parents?"

"That's the thing," she answers, "they told us that she didn't have any friends; she enjoyed being on her own in her bedroom every evening."

"So, no boyfriend I'm guessing," I ask.

"Yep, unless she was very good at hiding him. Her parents were really protective of her, they checked her phone and emails etc. etc., they have all her passwords and they're gonna bring in her laptop for me to look at."

"That'll be interesting," I say.

"Why? What are you thinking?"

"If it was you, where would you keep things so your parents would never find them?"

"Don't worry," she smile faintly, "I have that covered."

"What?"

"I used to hide stuff from my folks for years, it's a lot easier than it looks."

"Okay, well," I head towards the door, "you will keep quiet about…"

"Jane," she interjects, "my lips are sealed."

"Thanks," I tell her, "if you'll excuse me."

"Sure," she replies.

I open the door and almost walk into Charlie.

"Sorry Fitz," I tell him immediately.

"No worries," he replies, "oh, Baker wants to see you, he's in his office."

"Thanks," I tell him before heading out of the bullpen and hopping on the lift up to Baker's office.

I knock a couple of times on the walnut door before being summoned. Baker is sitting behind his desk with a newspaper propped up in front of him.

"Ah Jane, it's good to see you again," he smiles, putting down the paper, "I understand that you have gone to see Lisbon."

"Yes, she's a bit under the weather at the moment," I answer – 'under the weather' being understatement of the year, "she won't be in today."

"Thank you for letting me know; I needed confirmation before I put Cho in charge, temporarily of course."

"Yes, I think that it'd be good for Lisbon to have a few days leave. Now, I understand that you wanted to see me."

"Yes, have a seat," he gestures to the chair on the opposite side of the desk; obediently, I sit down; "I wanted to talk to you about Red John and what happened at Christmas."

A weight in my stomach drops and the image of the smiling face drawn in Lisbon's blood flashes back into my mind.

"Okay," I reply robotically.

"Good, as you well know, the investigation is ongoing, internal affairs are all over it, but I want you to tell me exactly what happened," he leans forward and knots his fingers together, "I want you to tell me your side of the story; there are no microphones, no one can over hear us. I just want the truth."

The temptation to say _where to start _is overwhelming, but I keep quiet, and lean back into the chair. I give him an extremely abbreviated version of events; half of it wasn't _that _important and well…some of it is none of his business. Occasionally, he nods and takes a sip of water from the glass on his desk; but he stays silent and observes me.

When I end the series of events, I ask him, "have you done the same with the other agents?"

He seems generally surprised by my question, but the look on his face tells me that he has.

"What we did that day was finally end Gale Bertram's reign of terror," I state it plainly.

"No, you ended Red John's reign of terror," he contradicts me, "I know you may disagree with me Mr Jane, but Gale Bertram had a good side to him."

I shake my head, "Red John, Gale Bertram, they were both the same man, there is no point trying to sugar coat it. Red John was head of the CBI, he hid under all our noses," I counter, "in my mind, we stopped a vicious man. The media and the public have it all backwards; we didn't know it was him and we didn't help him – well, the good ones didn't anyway, we need someone to stand up against them and tell them the truth."

"Jane, I hear you, truly I do, but it's not that simple."

"Yes it is," I retort.

"No it's not, and you're way out of line here," his expression changes, "don't tell me how to do my job."

"I'm not, I just…"

"Enough," he interjects, "you're dismissed for now, but if I hear so much as a bad word leave your mouth, you'll be out of here before you know it."

I nod, knowing that Lisbon would certainly kill me if she found out that I'd been fired.

"I'm glad that we've reached an agreement," he picks up his paper, "that'll be all."

I stand and swiftly leave the office, not wanting to aggravate him even more – wow, marrying Lisbon really has changed me – and I head back downstairs to the team.

I head straight to my sofa when I return to our floor, only to find that the seat has already been taken; two people who I have never met before but I recognise them from a picture. They stand as I approach, out of politeness, I shake both of their hands.

"Mr and Mrs Matterson," I address them.

"Mr Jane," Mr Matterson speaks first, "I'm glad that we've finally been able to meet you in person."

"Please find who killed our baby," Mrs Matterson manages to say through the onslaught of tears.

"I assure you that we will," I answer, "please, follow me. Can I get you a drink of some kind?"

"No, thank you Mr Jane," Mr Matterson replies firmly.

I lead them to a more private area, somewhere we can talk without being overheard, and there is only one place where I can guarantee that: Lisbon's office. They take a seat on the sofa and I pull out the chair to sit opposite them.

"I guess that you have already spoken to Agents Cho, Fitz and Willis," I begin.

"Yes," he answers, "we told them everything that we know about Olivia's disappearance."

"And your son," I ask, thinking back to what Molly told me before, "does he know anything."  
"No, Kyle knows nothing," Mrs Matterson shakes her head, "do you have any leads?"

"We're looking into everything we have so far," I reply, hoping that it is true.

"Thank you," she mouths.

"Mr Matterson," I begin.

"Henry, please," he interrupts.

"Okay, Henry, my colleague told me that you keep track of who your daughter was speaking to online and on her phone."

"Yes, what of it?"

"Do you do the same to your son?"

"No, we trust Kyle, he's _normal_," his tone of voice sends a chill down my spine.

"And how would you define _normal_?"

"He speaks to people, he enjoys company; Olivia doesn't…she didn't," he stammers, "we did it because she spent a lot of time in her room and we didn't know what she was doing up there. For all we know, she could have been chatting online with bad men."

"I bet that we missed something," Mrs Matterson cries out, "I bet that she was talking to someone and they killed her!"

"Shush honey," Henry comforts her and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"If that is the case, we'll find out," I reply, "we've got our best technician checking the computer you brought us."

"I'm going to kill who did this to my daughter," Henry growls through gritted teeth.

"We'll find who did this," I tell him, "and your daughter will get justice, but please, leave it to us."

He looks at me and nods slowly. I know that feeling…that painful joy of vengeance and getting justice for loved ones, but it takes its toll.

**A/N: **sorry this is extremely late, I've have a stack of coursework to do and not much time to do it. Apologies again, CallMeHannah.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5.**

They leave wordlessly, Mrs Matterson – I never did catch her name – is still crying and being comforted by her husband. I find Molly at her desk with a laptop on her desk.

"Find anything new with them?" she asks, not averting her gaze from the screen.

"Did you interview the brother?"

"Answering a question with a question," she smiles, "no, he was at school," she diverts her gaze and looks at me, "so, anything new?" she repeats.

"Well, I need to check your notes first, but I can't say at the moment."

"Aw, you're no fun," she answers, "nothing on this so far, but I'm looking," she focuses back on the laptop on front of her.

"Where's Cho?" I ask her, looking around, he is nowhere to be seen and, if he's in charge, I need to ask his permission before I go somewhere.

"He's with Baker," she answers, "oh, that reminds me," she hits the 'enter' button and then turns her body to face me, "did you two have a little fight?"

"What? No," I answer her.

"Liar," she boldly replies, "he was furious when he came looking for Cho before. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," I tell her – the less people who know about the confrontation, the better.

"I'm not going to continue until you tell me," she folds her arms and leans back in her chair.

"Cho's not going to be happy if you don't carry on," I remind her.

"He'll understand," she retorts, "so, tell me everything."

"Jane," Cho calls my name as he enters the bullpen from the hallway, "a word; Molly," he continues, "have you found anything yet?"

"Still working on it," she slowly turns back to the computer and begins to type away again.

"Baker's pissed, you know that," Kimball tells me bluntly, "I've just been told to keep you on a short leash when we go out in the field. What have you done this time?"

"Oh come on Cho, you make it sound as if I annoy everyone that I meet," I answer.

He stares at me plainly.

"I told him to man up about the whole CBI-Public Relations crap that's going on," I sigh; I know that Cho won't stop badgering me about it until I spill the preverbal beans – having Cho on your back is a lot worse than having Willis nipping at your heels, trust me on that!

"Wow," he seems surprised, "I didn't think that'd it'd be that easy to get it out of you."

I smile briefly at him, before I ask him: "any chance we could visit her high school?"

"Why?" Cho asks, giving me a sceptical look.

"Her parents told me that she wasn't 'normal', I want to know if her classmates thought the same."

"Fine, but I'm coming with you," he strides past me to get his badge and gun from his desk drawer.

"Don't worry Cho, I'll be on my best behaviour," I tell him, hoping that he'll have a little more faith in me.

"You'd better," he warns me, "Baker wants a full report and I don't want to lie to him to cover your ass."

"Aw Cho, I'm touched that you'd go to such lengths to 'cover my ass' as you put it," I smile.

He walks past me and stops beside Molly.

"Keep me posted on anything that happens," he tells her.

"No problem boss," she says before stopping and turning to address me, "sorry, it just came out."

Thinking nothing of it, I smile at her briefly before following Cho out of the bullpen.

"Well Jane," Cho begins as he pulls out of the car park, "what damage did you do?"

"Damage?"

"Don't play dumb," he answers, "you really put Baker in a bad mood, what did you say to him?"

"I told you before," I really don't want to go into this.

"Nope, you're not getting away that lightly. Come on, spit it out."

I give up; I tell him everything, Cho sits next to me and listens to every word. After I finished, he pauses for a moment and then replies: "off the record, you did the right thing."

Shocked as I am with this revelation, I keep quiet, egging him on to explain. He sighs.

"Someone needs to do something," he continues after a few seconds silence, "we should have known about Bertram, for god's sake, he lead us for several years and we never knew that he was that murderous sociopath. If a building full of highly trained agents couldn't have sussed it out, then what hope was there for the rest of them?"

"He went under the radar for so long, years before we even started on the case, we couldn't have caught him in a matter of months," I tell him honestly, "he was skilled at murdering people, he was careful and had no problem tying up loose ends. If he had made mistakes all the way through his reign then, yes, we should feel guilty; but the fact is he didn't, and so we shouldn't feel guilty. Personally, I'm just glad that the bastard's dead."

Cho glances over; there is something in his eyes that immediately tells me that something is wrong. I remember the events leading up to Bertram's death as if they were happening right now; it was Cho who handed me the gun, it was his gun that killed the director of the CBI…and he feels guilty for that.

"Cho," I begin slowly, "you still feel guilty for what happened that day don't you?"

"What? No," he retorts quickly.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, I do still feel guilty about it; I gave you the gun for god's sake, I even told you that he deserved what he got. I'm not supposed to say that sort of thing, Jane."

"True, but you were right, he did deserve it."

"That's not the point," he snaps back.

"So? You did what you had to do, there is no doubt in my mind that if you hadn't given me the gun, then I wouldn't be sitting here. I never thanked you, so…thanks Cho."

He says nothing and continues to stare at the road.

"Have they interviewed you about that day?"

His silence sufficiently answers my question.

"You didn't lie did you?"

Again, he doesn't take me on.

"Tell them the truth or if you want to, tell them I asked for a gun," I offer, "the others didn't hear us so they won't be able to say you gave it willingly and…"

"Jane," Cho interrupts, "it's fine; please can we drop the subject."

The temptation to carry on is very alluring, but I do as he wishes and so I begin to think of a new subject to talk about.

"Why do you want to go to the school?" Kimball asks, breaking my train of thought.

"She was described by her own parents as 'not being normal', I want to know if her classmates feel the same way; people can act a lot differently around their parents than around others, for all we know, she could have been the most popular girl in school and her parents could be none the wiser."

"I bet that you weren't like that," Cho gives me one of his rare smiles.

"Hard to conceive, isn't it?" I return the grin.

"Here we are," Cho pulls in to the car park, which seems to be too big for just a school.

The main building is huge and looks more like a shopping mall than a school; there are plenty of teens hanging around campus, mainly groups of girls chatting and showing each other funny pictures on their expensive touch screen phones that makes mine look like it was made in the Bronze Age; in the distance is a group of male teenagers throwing around a football. Cho seems to follow my gaze and asks: "I guess you weren't on the football team?"

I shake my head to answer his question before heading off towards the team of young men.

"Jane, wait!" Cho calls as he fumbles with his keys to lock the car.

As I approach them, they stop throwing the ball and watch me walk up to them.

"Sorry dude," says the one holding the ball, "this practice is only for us."

"Yeah," another one jeers, "we don't want you to hurt your back, grandpa!"

I stop and look at each and every one of them, all but one stare back confidently.

"No worries," I answer, "my colleague Agent Cho and I" – I point to Cho who has just arrived behind me – "just need to speak to this young man here."

They all stare at the boy who averted their gaze.

"Can't you talk to him later? He's our best running back and he needs to be here," the first one argues.

"Nope, sorry kids," they all tense a little, "this is official police business," I flash them my ID card.

They calm down a little, but the idiot who called me 'grandpa' before doesn't back down.

"Hey, you can't just come in here and tell us what to do!"

"Sure I can," I retort, "a girl from this school has been killed and I need to ask your friend here about her. Now, I'm guessing that you're the quarterback, am I right?"

He nods, "yeah, I am."

"Then I suggest that, when throwing the ball, use your shoulder, it'll go further."

"What are you on about dude?" he sniggers, "I know how to throw a ball, I've been doing it since I was two."

"Fine, but I bet the game last week knocked your confidence a bit," I reply, "you lost right?"

The other players look at each other in disbelief.

"How'd you know that?" he asks, "how did you know we lost?"

"It's not that hard to miss, now, can we talk to your friend here?"

Without a word, the boy leaves his circle of friends and follows us away from them.

"What do you want with me?" he asks us, looking a little perplexed.

"You know Olivia Matterson?" Cho inquires.

"Yeah, we're in the same chemistry class, why?" he replies nonchalantly before the penny drops, "she's dead isn't she."

"Yes," I tell him, "we need to know, what was she like here?"

"In what sense?"

"Was she chatty, popular, funny?" I prompt him.

"Oh no, she was quiet, hardly spoke a word. Funny story actually, last year, someone put a live…" he trails off when he sees Cho's expression; "I hardly knew here," he begins to fiddle with the hem of his top.

"Lying," I interject.

"What?"  
"Want some advice? Never play poker, your tell is obvious," I nod towards his hands, whilst receiving an elbow in the side from Cho, "you knew here."

"Yeah, she was cool, we hung out."

"There, doesn't it feel better to tell the truth," that comment earns me another elbow in the ribs.

"Look, despite what people say, she was really nice," the boy tells us, "she is…was down to earth, not like the other girls."

"Do you know who knows her the best?"

"I guess that would be me," he answers sheepishly, "no one ever spoke to her but they spoke a lot about her."

There is something in his eyes which tells me that he is telling the truth, he has stopped running the fabric of t-shirt through his fingers and looks us in the eyes.

"Where were you during the hours of 9 and 12 last night?" Cho asks him gently.

"Whoa! I didn't kill her!" he replies, "I would never hurt her!"

"We just need to know," Cho tries to calm him down.

"I was at home, studying; my parents wouldn't let me out of my room," he pauses for a second before adding, "please, I cared about her, she didn't deserve to die."

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?" I ask him.

"No, I'm sorry, she was a great person."

**A/N: **hey guys, thank you for the words of encouragement about the coursework, I managed to finish one out of three subjects (yay!). It did help that part of it was about The Mentalist – the best part was describing Simon Baker as "5ft 10 with wild blond curls"! Thanks again for reading and I will update asap!

Until then, CallMeHannah. xxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6.**

Cho impatiently glances at his watch, the fourth time in about five minutes, he scans the science lab that we have been left to our own devices in. It's spotless and smells similar to the bleach that was at the crime scene; stuck all around the room are posters, many are hand-drawn and offer safety advice and guidelines to its readers. At the front of the classroom is a cabinet with glass panels on the two doors; it houses many expensive looking pieces of equipment and a few used tripods that are stacked on the bottom shelf. I am about to get up for a closer inspection before the door at the rear of the classroom opens and a group of kids come in, amongst them is the boy we spoke to before. They pause for a second before a teacher appears behind them and instructs them to take a seat. Reluctantly, they do as they are told and meander to their desks whilst the science teacher takes her seat at the head of the class.

"Okay everybody" she grabs their attention, "settle down."

They stare at her, some look eager to learn though others look her up and down, judging her. Oh this is going to be fun.

"Now, I need you all to pay attention," she tells them before turning to us, "they're all yours," there is a look of relief on her young face as she moves aside.

Deciding that Cho may not be thrilled if he took the stage, I stand and take the teacher's place at the head of the class.

"Hello," I greet them, "I'm Patrick Jane and this is Agent Cho, we're from the CBI."  
"Awesome!" a girl from the back of the class shouts out, "are you going to tell us about dead bodies and stuff?"

I hear a stifled sob from beside me: the teacher is trying to hold herself together.

"Unfortunately, yes," I pause to let my words sink in, "one of your classmates was found dead this morning."

They instantly begin to search the room, trying to determine who is absent. After a minute or so, they all turn back to face the front. Olivia's friend stays silent and stares down at his desk.

"Who?" The girl who called out before acts as their spokesperson, "nobody's missing."

A slight weight drops in my stomach, the thought that they don't even notice her gone sickens me.

"Olivia Matterson, you remember now?" my retort is a little edgy that takes all but one of them aback.

"Oh," says the girl, as if it doesn't matter in the least.

"Agent Cho and I wanted to know more about her," I tell them, "we want to know what she was like as a classmate, and who better to ask then you?"

"Maybe ask her imaginary friends," the girl jeers, "oh no, only she could speak to them."

The class laugh like a group of hyenas, Cho stands up and walks up to me. He clears his throat before shouting: "have some respect!"

They all snap to attention and stare wide eyed at him, I return to my seat, leaving him centre stage.

"Olivia Matterson was last seen here, her last class yesterday was in this room," he states the facts clearly, "one of you may have been the last person to see her alive."

A hand shakily rises from the back of the class, Cho nods to him and he stands up.

"I saw her in the parking lot yesterday, she was speaking to someone," he stammers.

"Do you know who it was?" Cho asks him calmly.

"No, but I could describe him," he answers, a little more confidently.

"Stay behind," he tells the boy before turning to the rest of the class, "anyone else?"

They are silent for a moment before another girl raises her hand, again, Cho nods at her, prompting her to speak.

"She was acting different yesterday," she answers, "she started to speak to me; asking me questions about the work. She'd never done that before."

For the remainder of the class, they told us all about the victim; how she kept to herself most of the time, spoke to herself and sat at her own at lunch. She was a loner and even now, some of them chose to ignore her, especially the one girl at the front of the class. Whilst Cho was speaking to them, I was busy behind him…

"Excuse me," I interrupt the current conversation and stand up, walking away from the teacher's desk, "you," I point at the girl, "what is your name?"

"Tara, my name is Tara," she replies proudly.

"And you didn't like Miss Matterson, did you?"

"It's that obvious," she sarcastically retorts, "she was a freak, she didn't belong here."

"A freak?"

"Are you deaf? We just explained why," she laughs.

"So she was a freak because she was different?"

Tara stares at me blankly.

"So everybody who is different is a freak?" I direct the question at the whole class.

"Well…yeah," Tara smirks.

"So, Cho," I turn to my colleague, "does that mean that I'm a freak?"

He gives me the same blank stare that Tara gave me.

"Okay, so in five seconds," I move aside and reveal a bubbling flask behind me, "this is going to be awesome."

_5…4…3…2…1…_ the liquid stops bubbling.

"Cover your nose," I mouth to Cho.

Both of us cover our noses as the stink bomb takes effect, instantly, the teenagers and teacher begin to complain and run out of the classroom.

"Why?" Cho shouts at me over the noise.

I shrug and smile at him.

He slams the car door shut and looks at me coldly.

"After all that has happened today, the one thing that you decide to do is set a stink bomb off in a classroom," he begins, "please explain to me the logic in that."

"They bullied a girl mercilessly and they still don't care about her after she has been killed," I answer, "what more did they deserve?"

"That's not for you to decide," he tells me, "you do know that I'll have to tell Baker about this."

The sudden realisation hit me like a freight train.

"Oh crap," the thought of Baker being told about my antics.

"I'm gonna have to tell him, y'know," Cho sighs.

"Let me just have another couple of hours on the case," I almost plead him.

"Fine, but I'm not gonna cover your ass over this," Cho reminds me, "so, where to next?"

"Hang on," I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Willis's number, she picks up after the first couple of rings.

"Agent Willis."

"Hey Molly, it's Jane. I'm just checking up on how the search on the computer is going."

"Okay I guess, nothing has popped up so far, but…"

"But?"

"There are some password protected files that I'm unencrypting at the minute, it might take a while but I'm hopeful that there is something in there that can lead to a suspect. How are things going your end?"

"Well," I reluctantly begin, "not too bad I guess."

"Why, what have you done?"

"Why does everyone make the assumption that it's me that has done something wrong?"

"Because it usually is," she points out.

I pause, contemplating her point before deciding it best to move on.

"What's Fitz up to?"

"He's on the phone with…oh what's his name…the medical examiner?"

"McKinnon?"

"That's the guy!" she exclaims, "they are discussing the autopsy report."

"Well, we'll be back as soon as we can," I reply and she says her goodbyes and puts the phone down.

"Home?" Cho asks and I nod in reply.

Home sounds good; it's late afternoon and the only thing that we can do know is return to the CBI building. We've learned a lot more about our victim now, it's obvious that before her untimely death, she was acting strange – that's not unusual, many murder victims act strangely before they meet their end – but she was gaining confidence…hmmm.

The ride back to the CBI was shorter than I imagined and we were back before the sun had even begun to set. As soon as Cho and I entered the bullpen, we were instantly greeted by Fitz.

"The full autopsy report has come through," he tells us before leading us to his desk, "cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head; and before you ask, no, there was no physical evidence on the body. McKinnon thinks that the bleach destroyed it all."

After finding the document in his email inbox, he moves aside so Cho and I can take a look.

"Any idea as to what the weapon was?" Cho asks, he eyes scanning the page.

"They're running tests now," Charlie replies, "but it was something sharp and heavy;" he says that as soon as Cho scrolls down to reveal a photo of the wound.

"Ouch," we all winch and look away as the image is branded into our minds. The fact that this injury was on the back of a young girl's head makes it a hundred times worse.

"He went on to say that it was one of the worst head injuries that he had seen in all his years as a medical examiner," he continues, "personally, it's in my top three as well."

Charlie scrolls down past the picture and another takes its place, a less gruesome one at least.

"So, did you get any new information about our victim at the school?" Charlie asks.

Cho supresses a smirk - which is unlike him - and walks away from us to speak to Molly.

"Why, what did you do?" Charlie looks at me sternly.

"I…well…I set off a stink bomb," I tell him, if I didn't then he would definitely hear about it another way.

"Oh," is all he says.

"Yeah, and before you say anything, I know that Baker is gonna…"

"…Kill you."

I turn to face the voice behind me; Baker is standing there, his arms folded and a disconcerting look on his face.

_Oh crap _is the single thought that comes into my head.

"Jane," he addresses me.

"Director Baker," I answer, matching his formality.

"Please tell me that there is something wrong with my ears, because I received a call today from the school principal."

"I can explain," I reply, racking my brains for some sort of rational explanation.

"I'm waiting," he begins to tap his foot.

"Well, Cho and I managed to find out more about our victim," I begin, "and well, err…"

"You don't have a valid explanation, do you?"

"Well, sir, I have been thinking about the scene."

"Care to elaborate?"

"The injury and the way that we found the body," I answer, "they don't seem to fit."

"Fit? Fit what?"

"The blunt force trauma to the head, that is a violent act…very violent, that is done out of anger. Yet the way we found the body was completely the opposite; she had bleach on her and she was laying in a posed position, the killer was very precise when positioning her."

"So, you're saying that we're dealing with a violent offender who takes pleasure in posing his victims?" Baker asks.

"Hmmm…possibly," I answer.

"You seem to doubt the theory," he interrupts.

"I open to alternative ideas."

"That normally means that you think that my theory is wrong," he replies sceptically, "anyway, your actions today will have consequences Mr Jane, but they can wait until after the case has been closed. For now, I suggest you stay clear of your antics."

I nod, he excuses himself from the crowd and retires to his office, I presume.

"You got lucky on that one Jane," Cho comments.

"Yeah," I breathe a sigh of relief, before retreating to the comfort of my sofa, enclosing myself in the soft cushions.

"Anything yet on the computer?" I call across to Molly.

"Nope, still working on it," is the reply.

"Go home Jane," Cho tells me, "we'll ring you if there is any news."

I pause for a moment; there is nothing here for me to do except drink tea and lie on the sofa, besides, I really should go home to Lisbon…

"Okay," I answer, sitting up, "but promise that you'll ring."

"Sure," Kimball replies before disappearing from the bullpen with some files.

"Well, I'll see you guys tomorrow then," I smile before heading out the door.

**A/N: **I'm really sorry for the late chapter: the joys of work, eh? New chapter will be posted ASAP and Merry Christmas to you all! CallMeHannah. xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7.**

The door squeaks open and the house is so quite that you could hear a pin drop; the mark, drawn in blood, is still on the wall as I walk down the hallway; the pool on the floor is also a reminder of today's earlier events. It all seems quite surreal; he has been dead for months and yet he still haunts us; Lisbon puts on a brave face, but I can see beyond that façade – and she knows it. In the 10 years or so that we've known each other, I have learned so much about her…and she knows not so much about me as she should; she knows about my past etc. and all that, but she doesn't really _know _me, as husband and wife should. I love her with all my heart, I do, but there seems to be some invisible wall separating us, preventing us from knowing every nook and cranny of each other's feelings. Just telling her won't suffice, being next to her won't cut it either, I need to show her; but at the minute, I don't think that she'd be overly pleased by that. What she said earlier about the symbol…Red John is far from being out of our lives for good; neither of us can sleep, both of us have skipped meals – mostly unintended – but by the waistband of my trousers hanging slack around my waist, it has taken its toll. Both of us are far too proud to admit that there is anything wrong, we just shrug our shoulders and hope that it'll pass – firing a bullet at a suspect, taking down a mass murderer, all those sorts of things are day to day and have never really bothered us (they were nothing that a good bottle of wine and a long sleep couldn't fix) but red John was a whole other level. It's definitely going to take more than alcohol and a night in a comfy bed to shake this off.

I round the corner towards the kitchen to find stuff to clean up with: a mop, kitchen roll and some floor cleaner should do the trick…only to find Lisbon standing in there, barefoot, sipping a mug of strong coffee. She is facing away from me and seems to be staring out the window, her thoughts elsewhere.

"Teresa," I call out to her.

She shudders and turns to face me, "Patrick," she replies, "I didn't hear you come in, you're home earlier than I expected."

"Yeah, Cho let me go early," I explain.

"Cho's taken lead," her statement is as blunt as Cho himself, though there is no hint in her voice that tells me that she is jealous of Cho, or spiteful that he has taken lead on a case that she should be investigating.

"Baker offered it to him," I tell her.

"Good, it'll be good experience for him," she smiles faintly, "he is more than capable of handling this case."

"How are you?" I instantly change the subject, speaking the question that is at the forefront of my mind.

"I'm…okay," she replies hesitantly, "I woke up half an hour ago and needed a drink," she diverts her gaze past me, towards the scene at the other side of the room, "leave the cleaning up to me, it is my mess after all."

"It's fine, I don't mind cleaning up," I reply.

"No," she snaps at me before taking a slow and deep breath, "I'll do it."

"Okay," I reply, not wanting to make her even more stressed, "are you hungry?"

"No, I'm good, thanks," she plants her cup on the side and walks past me.

_Tough_, I mentally reply and pull a glass dish out of one of the cupboards; she will eat, even if I have to make her, we are going to eat a meal together. I put the kettle back on to boil, but it doesn't take very long as the water is still warm inside. Next, I fish some pasta from another cupboard and cheese and bacon from the fridge; from the living room, I can hear the small fragments of glass being swept up and the radio singing some modern dance rubbish – I've never understood how people can listen to the repetitive thump of a single bass drum and call it 'music', that kind of stuff gives you headaches! The 'music' stops and is replaced by the beautiful tinkle of piano keys; soft, calming and relaxing: just what's needed at this moment in time. I turn my attention back to the food and I pour some water over the pasta in the dish and I turn on the oven.

"That's a lot of food for one person," Lisbon comments as she passes behind me with a dustpan full of glass and saturated kitchen roll which is a bright shade of pink.

"Some of this is for you too," I answer.

She remains silent and as I turn to face her, she scowls at me in her usual way.

"I know you said that you're not hungry, but I figure that we both could use a good meal," I explain to her.

"Jane, I'm fine,I don't want anything to eat," she replies, brushing of what I said, "I'm fine," she reinstates.

"No," I shake my head, refusing to act like nothing is wrong," Lisbon, what happened at Christmas has changed us, but neither of us are eating or sleeping."

She remains silent for a second and stares down at the floor, before she lifts her gaze and looks me in the eye.

"There is nothing wrong, I can't sleep because…because…" she struggles to find a reason, tears begin to brim her beautiful emerald eyes.

"Hey," I wrap my arms around her to comfort her, "everything will be okay."

"What are we going to do?" she whispers.

"We're going to face it head on," I reply, rubbing her back, "no pills, no long consultations with anyone; we'll deal with it okay. But I need you to tell me everything."

She backs away a little and wipes the tears away, "no hypnosis," she almost laughs.

"Don't worry, there will be no hypnosis involved."

Her agreeing to this is makes a huge weight lift from shoulders, and I guess from hers.

Now that the oven has warmed up, I shove the dish on a shelf and then I begin to prepare the bacon for frying.

"First thing we need to do is eat," I turn to tell her, but she is not there.

I call out, and she answers, telling me that she is setting the table.

Later that night, after washing the dishes from our delicious yet small meal, we curl up on the sofa, Lisbon resting in my arms; her eyes droop every so often as she begins to fall asleep. I continue to watch the TV and try not to move and disturb her; today has been exhausting, both the case and _home affairs_ have taken it all out of me. The program on the TV finishes and the credits begin to role. A late night talk show follows, the headline at the bottom of the screen reads 'young girl tragically killed in wood; CBI investigates'. The anchor stares at the camera, a fake smile plastered on his face.

"16 year old Olivia Matterson was found dead by park rangers this morning near the outskirts of the city; the CBI are currently requesting anyone with information to contact the number below," he tells his audience, "but with the recent investigation regarding the serial killer Red John, are the CBI really up to the job of finding the young girls killer? Representatives from the CBI declined to comment on the matter, which really begs the question, can we trust them to safe guard our homes and bring justice?"

Without realising, my muscles have tensed a little and now begin to ache.

"What is it?" Lisbon murmurs.

Quickly, I grab the remote and change the channel; hopefully, she hasn't seen the report, the last thing we need now is some idiot criticising the CBI and talking about things that he has no idea about.

"Nothing," I answer, hoping that she wouldn't enquire more about it.

"Mmm," she mumbles and goes back to sleep.

The clock on the bookcase strikes 11pm, and with the knowledge that I will have to be up in the morning, I gather Teresa up in my arms and carry her off to bed.

A warm and calm night helps both of us drift off to a refreshing, uninterrupted sleep that seems too good to be true. I roll over to turn the alarm off – I had set it last night as we have a case – only to return to find a space beside me. I think about calling out, but I hold my tongue, knowing Lisbon, she would think that I'm trying to keep tabs on her at all times…and she would hate that. She must've gotten up earlier, and with that prominent thought, I rise to shower quickly and dress. Looking down at the waistband of my trousers, I notice that they are a lot more comfortable than yesterday; I guess that meal really did do us good.

Leaving the bedroom, I hear the cracking of bacon frying in a pan in the kitchen.

"You're up," a call follows the inviting noise of cooking food.

"Yeah," I reply, joining Teresa in the kitchen.

Instantly she pulls me into a comforting embrace and plants a kiss on my lips.

"How're you feeling?" she almost beams.

"Good," I warily reply, "you?"

"A lot better thanks," she smiles, "I guess that talk yesterday really did do the trick, I feel great. Would you like some bacon?" she turns back to attend to the breakfast.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

Something just doesn't add up…

"So," she interrupts my train of thought, "you'll have to update me on the case."

"What?" the word bursts from my lips before I could stop it.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to relieve Cho of his duty leading the team, I just want to get back to work."

_That sounds like the old Lisbon, _the voice in my head comments, _maybe she is feeling better after all. _

"Only, if you're sure," I answer.

She turns and raises her eyebrows at me, it's a look that I have become on the receiving end many times.

"Patrick," she smiles, "I'm fine."

I don't want to point out about what happened yesterday; the blood, the way she looked…

"I remember what happened yesterday," she says, as if she read my mind, "but I just lost it for a moment. It won't happen again, I promise."

I nod, "okay," I tell her and I press a kiss on the back of her head.

We are greeted in the bullpen by Cho, who looks a little taken aback with the arrival of the boss. He pauses what he is doing and meets us at the entrance of the bullpen; Molly and Fitz, who are working at their desks, are both quick to follow his lead and join us.

"Didn't expect to see you back so soon," Cho greets Lisbon and gives him one of his rare smiles.

"Yeah, well…" she pauses to think, but before she can continue, Willis jumps in.

"Great to see you boss!" the Brit beams.

Teresa smiles at her before turning to face Kimball, "don't worry, I'm not back to steal your thunder. This case is yours, besides, this one" – she points her thumb at me – "didn't tell me anything about the case, so, who's going to fill me in."

She is lead away by Charlie and Molly to the murder board, which has definitely been added to since I saw it last.

"Is she alright?" Cho takes me aside before asking.

I shrug, not knowing exactly what to say; "I don't know."

"From the impression you gave yesterday, I thought that…"

"CHO!" a shout hollers from the bullpen.

Immediately, we return to the bullpen and find the three standing over Molly's desk, as we approach, they move aside to give a clear view of the victim's laptop. On the screen, multiple windows are open each displaying a photo taken by an amateur but all of the same person.

"Looks like our victim was stalking someone," Fitz tells us.

_No kidding._

"And look who it is," Molly enlarges part of the image, giving us a clearer view of the man in the picture, "they were all password protected," she adds, "and very well hidden."

As the pixels on the image organise themselves and the image becomes much clearer, the face of the young park ranger who found the body appears.

**A/N:** I hope everyone had a fab Christmas and got all that they wanted! Sorry again that this chapter is late, the joys of coursework in three subjects! Next one shouldn't take as long. Thanks for reading, love CallMeHannah. xxx


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8.**

Blake Horton, who is only 18 years old, sits opposite me; sweat drips from his brow onto the collar of his khaki coloured shirt. He barely looks at me and bites at a loose piece of skin on his thumb. That's what he has been doing for the past five minutes or so. He has refused to speak. I know that Lisbon, Fitz and Willis are all in the observation room, watching our every move – Cho has been called away by Baker, he didn't say why, but he certainly left in a hurry. The boy glances up and looks up at me before returning to his previous state and occupying himself once more with his hand. The boy, although nervous and unwilling to converse, hasn't called for a lawyer; I'll have to tread lightly to make sure that he doesn't in the future. Slowly, I pull the photo of her with her parents from the file on the table and slide it towards him, his eyes dart from his hand to the photo and then back again. There is a flash of guilt on his face, but as soon as it appears, it is lost.

"Did you know her personally?" I ask him.

Silently, he shakes his head.

"But you've seen her around?"

Again, in silence, he nods in agreement, but it is obvious that he knows more than he is letting on.

"You found her in the woods," I comment, hoping that it'd prompt him into saying something.

It doesn't work, so I try from another angle.

"We just want to know what happened Blake, was it an accident?"

He looks up, taken aback by the direct question.

"H…how did you know?" he stutters.

_Finally, a response._

"Just tell me what happened," I ask of him as I lean back.

He takes in a deep breath and sighs heavily.

"We were at school," he begins, "she…she began following me, I noticed her from time to time, caught her eye a few times too…" he hastily adds "but nothing happened, I swear."

"Okay," I say gently, trying to calm him down, "so you met her out in the woods?"

"No, I drove her there. She asked me to because I was a park ranger," he answers, "she wanted to find a plant for biology class or something; she was a nice girl so I got the information about where the plant was in the forest from the office and took her to the spot."

"So, you found the flower and then what happened?"

"She opened up to me, I guess that she trusted me enough to tell me about stuff, which was weird because I had never even had a proper conversation with her before. She talked and I listened," he seems to become distant, as if recalling some pleasant memory, "she told me about her family; she said that her parents controlled her, but she felt safe and she loved them, even her little brother."

His whole demeanour suddenly changes, he stands and begins to pace up and down the room.

"She tried to kiss me," he tells me, "and I shoved her away."

"She fell didn't she?" I ask.

He nods, "I didn't push her that hard, I swear, but she was fine. She sat up, I offered to help her, but she shoved me away and I was shaken, so I left. I'm sorry, but I didn't want to upset her any more than I already had."

"So you left her," I ask him.

"Yes, but she was alive, I assure you," he replies, an honest expression on his face, but his eyes say something more.

"Do you anyone who could have hurt her?"

"No."

_There! _He knows something, but he won't say any more. Deciding that it would be better not to pressure him further, I give him permission to leave, which he does in a hurry and I follow him out with the file.

"Don't leave town," I advise him, to which he nods and heads towards the lift.

"So Jane," Molly begins, leaving the observation room, "is he good for it?"

"No, he freely admitted to pushing her," I answer, turning around to face her, "but he was shaken when he found the body. Nothing screams 'actor' to me about him, but he's not telling us everything."

"Then why did you let him go?"

It's seems quite a naïve question for her to ask, but I reply: "it'll eat him up until he tells us, it's best to give him time and let him come to us."

"Okay, so who do we speak to next?" she asks.

"I'm following Cho's orders," I tell her, "is he still not back from Baker's office yet?"

"Nope," she quickly replies.

"Do you know what it was about?" I ask her.

"Beats me," she shrugs, "so, since Cho isn't here, you're second in command, I mean no offence to Lisbon, of course, but you are the second senior ag…you've been here longer than Fitz and I and well..."

"You're rambling, Molly," I interject.

She smiles sheepishly.

"Come on, we'll go and talk to the brother," I tell her, "where's Fitz?"

"At his desk, I think," Molly responds, before calling his name.

"Yep," comes the reply.

"Molly and I are going to talk to the victim's little brother, could you tell Cho that when he gets back," I ask him.

"Sure," he answers.

"Thanks," I shout back, but before we turn to leave, I pause, "where's Lisbon?"

"Oh, Baker called her up about a minute or so into your interview," Molly answers.

"Oh right."

"Before you ask, still no idea," she smiles.

"We'd better get going then," I tell her, and she nods in reply, "oh, you've got something…" I point to an orangey coloured spot on her sleeve.

"Bugger!" She curses, "god, I'm such a messy eater," she tries to rub it out but makes the stain worse.

"Tell you what, if you want to go and change it, I'll meet you there," I tell her.

"Thanks Jane," she smiles before returning to her desk and fishing her car keys from a drawer, "I won't be long."

She leaves about three or four minutes before I do; Fitz called me aside to tell me a few things, leaving me with a few more things to ask the brother as well as myself.

Being a Saturday, the roads are a little busier than usual and by the time I reach the victim's house, Molly has beaten me there.

"What took you so long?" she jokes.

"The usual," I answer.

"So…Fitz, I'm guessing," she smiles.

I give her a brief smile before joining her up by the front door; Molly knocks three times before taking a step back and the father opens the door.

"Agent Willis, Mr Jane," he addresses us both," please tell me you have good news concerning our Olivia."

Molly and I glance at each other before we are invited in by Henry Matterson; he leads us into the living room, where his wife and son are watching television. As soon as he walks in, his wife turns the TV off and politely acknowledges our entrance, her son, meanwhile stands to leave.

"Kyle," his father barks, "sit down."

The boy scowls at his father before dropping back down in his seat on the sofa. Henry offers us both a drink, which we graciously decline and he gestures to us to sit on the sofa opposite.

"Have you found who killed our baby?" Mrs Matterson cries out suddenly.

Willis pauses a moment before replying, "I'm sorry, not yet, but we are getting close."

"So, why are you here?" Henry almost demands.

"We wanted to talk to your son," I interject.

The pair seems to be taken aback by this, Kyle stands up and walks over towards the door.

"No," Henry shakes his head, "he's just lost his sister, and you're not going to fill his head with graphic images of her."

"Mr Matterson," Molly interrupts gently, "in my experience, children are more likely to tell their siblings things rather than their parents. Kyle might know something that you don't."

They pause to consider this before reluctantly agreeing to it and telling us where to find his bedroom.

Molly and I ascend up the staircase and find the door with the football poster on it. Gently, Molly knocks on the door.

"Who's that?" comes a voice from the other side.

"Kyle, can we come in? It's Agent Jane and Agent Willis," she replies.

The door opens a crack and an eye appears; we smile awkwardly at the boy and thankfully he lets us in. His room is typical of that of a 13 year old boy; the walls are plastered with posters of sports stars, a games console sits in the corner, surrounded by a well-stocked library of games – many of which are not really suitable for a boy his age – but I guess because when I was his age, we didn't have that…wow I sound really old.

"Why do you want to talk to me?" the boy asks, sitting back down on his bed.

"Did Olivia ever tell you something that you could never tell your parents?" Molly asks him gently.

"No," he quickly fires back, "she never asked me to do that."

The tone of his voice tells me that he's lying.

"Really?" Molly must have sensed it too, "because my brothers did that with me all the time. Kyle, you're not going to get into any trouble by telling us."

"Oh yeah, you haven't seen what my parents are like. They try and pretend that it's all happy families and whatnot, but they'd ground me for sure."

"Okay," I step forward and kneel in front of him, "here's what I'm going to do; I'm going to ask you a question, one blink is yes, two is no. This way, we can get the answers we want, and you won't be betraying your sister's trust."

He raises and eyebrow; I take that as a sign to go ahead.

"Did Olivia ever tell you about any boys?"

He blinks once.

"Did she show you any pictures of him?"

He blinks twice.

"Did you ever cover for her? Did she lie about where she was?"

Once again.

"The night before she died, did she say where she was going the next day?"

Tears glisten in his eyes, as he blinks twice, a tear tumbles down his cheek.

"Did she tell you about a boy named Blake Horton?"

This time, he nods.

"She liked him, didn't she?"

"Yes. A few days ago, she climbed out of her window and well…I only heard her come back at midnight."

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know."

"Your parents thought that your sister was _different_, did you think she was?" Molly interrupts.

"No, she just wasn't a social person, that's all, she preferred to sit and read stuff online."

"What exactly?"

"Something called fanfiction, I've read some and it and it's really weird," he answers, "oh and she was a bit of a swot too, she was obsessed with finishing her homework on time."

"Thank you Kyle, you've been a big help," I tell the boy.

Molly and I leave as soon as we can, as soon as Kyle opened the door to his room, his parents were like ravenous vultures. I don't know about Molly, but I certainly wanted to get out of there as fast as I could without it looking suspicious. As the door slams shut, I fell a lot safer with a barrier between me and them.

"So, what do you think?" Molly asks.

"We need to find out where she headed to at night," I answer, "did any of those photos have any time and date signatures on them?"

"I don't think I checked, but I can take a look as soon as we get back," she replies.

There is an unsettling feeling in my stomach, it's telling me that something is desperately wrong. Have we missed something? Some significant detail that is blindingly obvious to us?

"Jane," Molly interrupts my revelry, it is only now that I realise that I have been staring out of the window for about a minute now without even starting the car.

"Do you get the feeling that we've missed something?" I ask her.

She shifts slightly in her seat before shaking her head; "I don't think so, why?"

"No reason," I lie, but the feeling stays with me, it's like some sort of sickly bug that won't go away.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9.**

We return to the bullpen to find a small squad of officers assembled in front of a new murder board. Baker stands next to Cho and Lisbon and addresses the gathered team.

"…that is why we need to find who did this and fast; as of now, this case takes priority over all others," he concludes what I imagine to be quite a dull presentation.

Cho and Lisbon seem to spot Molly and me at the same time, both of them give us questionable looks before they snap back to attention when addressed by Baker, "Agent Lisbon," he continues, "you'll take point on this high priority case whilst Kimball is still in charge of the Matterson case."

"Yes sir," she answers obediently.

He whispers something in her ear before meeting Molly and me at the entrance to the pen.

"Where were you two?" he asks us.

"Oh, Molly and I were just following up on something," I answer, "what's going on here?"

"New body just came in, sorry, but as you can guess, this one takes priority."

That normally means that the victim's family have fat wallets or are very influential.

"Why?" Molly boldly asks, "surely everyone else deserves justice and other families deserve answers; this one should have to wait, we're stretched thin as it is…sir," she quickly adds.

"Walk over to that board and see for yourself, Agent Willis," he takes a step towards her, "and you tell me why this one takes priority."

We stand for a moment in silence, before Molly walks to the board scowling at Baker as she leaves. I follow suit and weave in amongst the mass of bodies towards the board where we are met by Teresa and Kimball.

"Priority case huh?"

"Yes," Lisbon replies, her gaze does not waver from the photo of the victim.

"So, what's the story with this bloke?" Molly asks.

"Meet John Doe," Cho pulls off the photo and hands it to her.

"No identification found at the scene?" I enquire.

"No, his name is actually John Doe," there is no humour in Lisbon's voice.

_It's almost like he expected to be killed, _the thought automatically appears in my head, but I know better than to utter the words aloud.

"It's almost like he expected to get murdered," Charlie remarks, appearing behind us; he notices the displeasure of the comment on our faces, "too soon?"

"Mr," Cho emphasises, "John Doe was found this morning in an alley, close to CBI HQ."

"And why does he take priority?" Molly asks bluntly.

"Take a closer look at the photo," Lisbon instructs her.

"Ouch," Molly winces, "he's missing an arm."

"Yeah, it was sawed off," Charlie adds the grisly detail.

"Not only that," Teresa turns to me, a grave look on her face, "there was a symbol found at the scene."

She hands me a photo that she had tucked away in her pocket, it's from another angle than the first; the body is lying in front of a wall with a smiley face drawn in what looks like blood, it is almost identical to Red John's signature, but for the eyes, it has red crosses.

"It's not him," I say automatically, "he's dead…I shot him, he's dead."

"So it's a copycat," Fitz answers, "but this person cleaned up after themselves, the scene was wiped clean and there was no murder weapon."

"CCTV footage is coming in now," Cho informs us.

"I'll deal with that," Molly offers, "after I check out those pictures."

"Which pictures?" Cho asks.

"We went to see Olivia's little brother after the interview," I reply, "Hudson admitted to pushing her, but he said that she was alive when he left. We went to ask Kyle whether…"

"And you just _forgot_ to tell us this," Cho interjects.

"Whoa, hold on, I asked Fitz to tell you because you were in with Baker," I fire back defensively.

"Oh, you did," Charlie sighs, "sorry, that's my bad."

"Okay, let's just take a breather," Lisbon tells us all before the situation gets even more heated, "Cho and I will brief both of you in five minutes, in the meantime, go and get yourselves some drinks. Meet in my office in five, okay?"

We both nod, and like scolded children, with retreat to the break room.

"It's just so wrong," Molly sighs, shaking her head as she walks, "we shouldn't just stop everything because of one case."

I say nothing; the artistic take on the Red John symbol has left me a bit….well, perplexed to be honest.

"Jane!" she snaps me back to reality, "back me up on this, Olivia Matterson deserves justice."

"We have to take orders from upstairs," I tell her - though I'm not such a huge fan of it, Baker has a point, "whoever did this is dangerous; it's not some idiot who felt like killing someone and then blaming it on a dead serial killer; Mr John Doe deserves justice too and well, more people may be at risk from this killer."

She looks at me, as if not believing that those words left my lips.

"I thought you of all people would agree with me on this," she answers, coldly, "guess I was wrong."

And with that, she strides out of the room and towards the exit.

"What's got into her?" Fitz asks.

"Nothing," I tell him, before reaching for the kettle.

"So, what's you take on this guy?"

"He's clever," I answer, "he may have killed before, but not to this scale. Has this exact symbol been used in any other homicides in the area?"

"Not that we know of, but we're looking now," Charlie grabs the coffee pot and pours a generous amount into his mug.

"What about the missing arm?" even thinking about it makes my spine tingle.

"Plenty of those, but that combined with the symbol has not happened before," he pauses, "changing the subject entirely," his voice suddenly goes serious; "do you think that this person idolises _him_?"

"It's more than likely," I assume.

Fitz and I join Cho and Lisbon in her office; there are two small murder boards that sit at the back of the room: one for Mr Doe and the other for Olivia Matterson.

"Where's..." Cho begins.

"It's best not to ask," I reply.

"Why?" Lisbon glances at me with an uncertain expression.

"She didn't agree with Baker's decision," I answer, "and to be honest, neither do I."

"Hence the reason that we are going to solve both of them at the same time," Cho announces.

"He's" – I point upwards – "not going to like this."  
"Exactly, that's why we are going to solve both of them," Lisbon tells us decisively.

"At the same time?" Fitz asks, a little startled.

"Yes," Cho replies bluntly.

"What did you find out about Olivia Matterson with her brother?" Lisbon asks.

"He covered for her, she would sneak out at night and she was – and I quote - 'a swot'," I answer.

"Where would she go when she sneaked out at night?"

"Taking photos of the boy she fancied," I reply, "Blake Horton."

"Did he know about this?" Fitz probes, "because if he did then that would give him motive."

"He told me that he took her to the woods and that she tried to kiss him, he pushed her away but he said that she was fine when he left her."

"And you think that he is telling the truth?" Lisbon asks.

"Yes," I reply, hesitating slightly.

"What is it?" Kimball interjects.

"He's not told us the whole story."

"So where is he?"

I shrug my shoulders.

"Why did you let him go?"

"He didn't kill her, soon the guilt will catch up with him and he'll tell us."  
"And when do you expect this to happen? A week? Next year perhaps?" Lisbon begins to get a little frustrated.

"Soon," I reply shortly, "and until then, we can focus on John Doe. So, what do we know about him so far?"

I see both Cho and Lisbon roll their eyes before turning, in sync, towards the mini murder board.

"Mr Doe was found at 18.49 this evening, cause of death is not yet confirmed but the ME said at the scene that from the blood splatter, he could say that his arm was removed ante-mortem," Cho informs me, "hopefully, Mr Doe was unconscious when this happened."

"He was married, no children;" Teresa continues, "his wife is away but she is returning to Sacramento on the next flight. Meanwhile, we are going to canvass his building to see if there was anyone hanging around."

There is something quite puzzling about this case, a mock Red John symbol and a missing arm…

"Jane, do you have something that you want to share with the group?" Cho asks me, breaking my train of thought.

"Not yet, but I'll keep you posted."

I receive another pair of eye rolls from Lisbon and Cho before I bid a hasty retreat from the room with Charlie in tow.

"Jane," he begins as he jogs to catch up with me, "I want to ask you something…well, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Have you ever had an odd feeling in your stomach that tells you that something is wrong but you don't know what?" he asks, almost sheepishly.

"Tell me more."

He pulls me aside and into one of the private rooms that line the main corridor.

"Something is wrong," he confesses, "desperately wrong, but I just can put my finger on it. I don't know if I'm just imagining things, but after what happened in December, everyone around here has been acting differently; suddenly with this symbol appearing on the wall; it's made me think that…well…"

"Come on, what?" I want to hear it from him, although I have a theory about what he is about to say.

"…that _he_ isn't really dead."

He pauses to reflect on the statement, as if he was afraid to admit to the possibility of _him_…

"He's dead, Charlie," I tell him, "he is not coming back."

"But what if he could…"

"That is not possible," I shake my head.

"He was a powerful man," Charlie counters, obviously stressed, "he has allies, maybe he hired Bertram to pretend to be him."

"He's dead, Charlie!" I yell.

Thank goodness that we are in a private room; Fitz stares at me blankly, I didn't mean to shout at him, but he just wouldn't stop. Only now do I realise that I am breathing rather heavily.

"He's dead," I repeat a lot calmer, "people cannot rise from the dead."

Fitz pushes past me and storms out, flinging the door open making it clatter against the glass wall and blinds before slamming shut; leaving me alone. Looking down, my hands shake with anger and fear; _it's impossible_. The door opens behind me and from the reflection on the two way mirror, I can tell it's Teresa.

"Why is it that nearly everyone who has spoken to you today has stormed out of the bullpen?" she asks.

I turn to face her, but she must have seen some tell on my face, as she strides up to me and wraps her arms around me.

"It's _him_," I whisper in her ear.

"He's dead," she echoes my thought, "he can't hurt us anymore."

My mind flashes back to the photo of that symbol on the wall.

"Yes, there will be more like him," again, she seems to be able to read my mind, "but they will never be him."

"Why do people seem to idolise sociopaths like him?"

She raises an eyebrow, "many people idolise you."

"Yeah, but I don't go around slitting people's throats," I remind her, "and it's unlikely that I ever will."

"You won't," she replies, "besides, I was only joking before. People look up to you because you see past peoples crap, you see past the lies and deceit; that's why people look up to you."

Hmm. I consider her point, "do people really do that?" I ask her.

"I do," she smiles, "so, Cho and I are off to the crime scene, want to come with us?"

I nod in reply, but before we leave the room, I take the opportunity to sneak a quick _at work _kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10.**

Seeing it in real life is a lot different than the photo; you definitely do not get the full impression of it until its right in front of you. It extends from about 4ft up the wall to about 6ft, which at least tells us something about our killer: they're very tall. The second thing that comes to mind is that it's not Red John. I find it stupid that it is the second thing that I think, but it does take my mind off that – although impossible – possibility. Quite close to this artwork is a massive dark stain from where the pool of blood had formed earlier in the day, it is difficult to comprehend that it all came from one person. Cho joins me at the spot where the murder was committed and draws a long sigh.

"Anything so far?" he asks.

I'd been so content on staring at the wall that not much else had come to mind about the actual killer.

"No, not yet," I answer honestly, "what do you think?"

"This guy had no enemies," he replies, "we spoke to neighbours, no-one was hanging around his apartment block and he was a well-liked employee at the workplace."

"Let me guess, a squeaky clean criminal record too?"

"Not even a parking ticket," Cho replies, "this guy was like a saint."

_Obviously not_.

"Where do we go from here?" I ask him.

"Our best hope are the security cameras around here, Molly's looking at them…well, hopefully anyway," he replies, "since he was killed late afternoon," he looks upwards at the darkening night sky, "and visibility was good, we might be able to catch a glimpse of our killer."

"But they are far from the most reliable forms of catching killers," I comment, looking up the alleyway; "how about trace evidence? If the killer sawed the man's arm off, there could be fingerprints on the body."

"The ME is checking now, we're just keeping our fingers crossed that something comes out from it."

"Where did you say this guy worked?"

"I didn't," Cho answers matter-of-factly, "he works at the same school that our first victim attended."

Well…that was a little bit unexpected.

"And you didn't tell me this before?"  
"Well, we didn't think that it would be very relevant," Teresa interjects from behind us, "this was a Red John copycat murder and the other wasn't."

"Did Mr Doe happen to teach her?"

"No," Lisbon answers, "hence the reason we are not treating this as a double homicide. There are definitely two killers here."

"So why did the killer use a mock Red John symbol?" Kimball asks, rhetorically, "and why remove the arm?"

"A ritual of some kind?" I suggest.

"Possibly," Teresa replies, "the ME said that he might be able to find trace evidence on the body, but we'll have to wait for that."

"Any other evidence found at the scene?"

"Not yet, uniforms are still canvassing," Cho answers, "but the street cameras are our best bet."

"Plus, we already have witnesses who claim they saw Mr Doe around the time he was killed," Lisbon adds, "we've got a few promising leads."

"What I don't understand," I begin, "is that Red John has been dead almost four months, why has someone decided to use his symbol now?"

"Building up the courage maybe?" Cho proposes, "_he_ did kill people who used his symbol before, maybe they were just making sure he was dead."

"But they altered the symbol," I point out.

"Then they are following in his footsteps, taking on his legacy," Teresa concludes.

"The already feared smiley face symbol but with new eyes," I say, "they want us to fear them as we once did Red John."

"So we're not dealing with some psycho trying to fill his boots," Teresa answers, "we're dealing with someone who may be as clever as _him._"

That sends a shiver down my spine; another serial killer is out there who is as bad as their idol and they want to be notice, which makes another body appearing extremely likely.

"If we don't get this one solved quickly and quietly, then all hell is going to break loose and more people are going to get killed," Cho tells us.

"And all in the name of recognition," Lisbon sighs, "c'mon, there could be something pertinent to the case that we've missed in our notes back in the bullpen."

Following her lead, Cho and I fall in line behind her and return to Kimball's car – we had all climbed into his – and we leave.

The sun has already set over the Californian skyline and the night is so clear that you can see the beautiful array of stars that begin to shimmer and shine in the earth's atmosphere…and Lisbon and I are still sitting in her office at work, going through every note that she, Cho and Fitz had correlated earlier in the day when they had interviewed witnesses. The same thing came up over and over again: "I didn't see anything," until one witness claims that he "saw the guy sitting at a coffee shop earlier, he was talking on his phone"; the handwriting I easily recognise as Charlie's – no one else in the world could have messier handwriting than his, it is close to being illegible! There is a note (well, a scrawled side note) telling him to add the information to the murder board later and to seize his phone records too.

"Hey Lisbon," I start.

She lifts her green eyes from the paper that she was studying to face me.

"Have you seen this?" I ask her, handing over the paper, "he hasn't noted down which coffee shop, but I could call him to ask."

"Yeah," she agrees, "oh, and tell him that when he gets in in the morning, I'll have financials on his desk."

"Sure," I answer, before pulling my phone from my trouser pocket and dialling his number on the keypad.

After only a few rings, the line goes dead.

"That's weird," I say, staring at my phone, "he put the phone down on me."

"Maybe he's still mad at you after what happened today," Teresa comments, not looking up from the page, "give him time Patrick, he'll soon come around."

"It's just odd that he won't pick up though, he always picks up if its work related."

"Patrick," she almost barks, "come on, we've got to get through all of these before we go home."

"Tell you what, why don't you go home and I'll go through them," I offer, "you look exhausted."

"I'm fine," she replies, but her mind says otherwise and she yawns.

Playfully, I raise an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes.

"Fine," she gives in far too easily, before striding over to me, she removes her jacket from the back of her chair and fishes her keys from the bowl, "but promise you'll be back before midnight?"

"Yes, I promise," I wrap my arms around her and plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Good," she smiles, "I'll see you at home then?"

"You will," I reply and reluctantly release my grip, "love you."

She turns and walks away before saying "I love you too" over her shoulder.

After she has disappeared, I make a slight dash for the break room to make myself another tea; this time, I don't put a decaffeinated teabag or a herbal teabag in my usual blue cup, I find one that is high in caffeine: if I'm going to make it through all the notes and siphoning off the most important information and adding it to the murder board. There are very few people staying late tonight; many of them not wanting to go home to their spouses, so they busy themselves in laborious paperwork that _simply must be done by tomorrow_. The fact is, being married to someone like Teresa and being so in sync with each other, marriage is easy; I'm not saying that we don't have little spats now and then, because we've had plenty of them, but knowing each other for so many years beforehand, we know each other's little pet hates and it is quite easy to live with one another. And best of all, neither of us is afraid to say aloud that we love each other. For years I wished that I had told her – telling her on the Red John trap doesn't count – and…well, I'll love her until the day I die.

Returning to Lisbon's office, I borrow her chair, pulling it round to face the board but close enough to the table so I can reach my drink and the stack of notes. Before I take a seat, I write the information on the board that Charlie had forgotten to do earlier and survey the growing lists of small snippets of evidence that was written in columns. Very little was from eyewitness accounts (you can't be too careful with them as some can take up a lot of time investigating to no avail), and the rest was merely data from the crime scene, the ME primary report etc.. Until the full autopsy report comes in, we have very little to go on; the caffeine from the tea is now beginning to kick in. But a knock at the door that pulls my attention from this case.

"Come in," I call out, not turning away from the board.

"Mr Jane," the quaking voice addresses me.

I turn to find Blake Horton standing in the doorway; sweat cascades down his face as it did when I first saw him near the crime scene; absently, his fingers fumble with the hem of his plaid shirt.

"Come in Mr Horton," I invite him in, and as he finds a seat, I turn the board around to hide the grisly photos of Mr Doe's body, "how can I help you?"

"I didn't tell you everything before," he blurts, his voice still quivering, "I think I know who killed Olivia, but I was too afraid to tell you because I didn't want no trouble."

"Blake, you came forward…" _reluctantly_, I add mentally, "just tell me everything."

"She was alive when I left I promise," he blurts out again.

"I believe you," I tell him, "go on."

"Well, I was really freaked out so I went to see…my girlfriend."

"And you told her?"

He stays silent but nods. He thought _that_ was a good idea!

"How did she react?" I ask.

"She got mad, really mad and pushed past me," tears now begin to glisten in his eyes, "look, I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"So, what happened after she drove off, did you follow her?"

"No," he shakes his head, "but I wish that I had and then maybe I could've stopped her."

"Blake, I'm gonna need a name," I tell him gently.

"Carrie," he sighs, "Carrie Waters; she said that there was an agent who set a stink bomb off in class, was that you?"

I nod and supress a smile, "thank you Blake," I tell the boy.

"What happens now?" he asks, wiping sweat and tears from his face.

"I'm sorry but I can't discuss it," I tell him.

He nods understandingly, "the reason that I didn't tell you before was because I didn't want to believe that she would do something like that."

"You've told me know," I reassure him, "go on, you go home."

He stands and walks back to the door.

"Blake," I call after him, "thank you."

He smiles faintly before leaving the office.

After a moment or so, I leave the safety of Lisbon's office to write the name on the board. The time now is half eleven; if I don't leave now then I'm going to break my promise – and she would definitely pay for that later. With this in mind, I lock up Lisbon's office with a spare key (that I had copied in case of emergencies) and swiftly leave the bullpen. There is a light shower passing over which is a welcome relief to the hot days that we've had over the past few weeks. Almost instantly, the temperature begins to drop and the dust that has collected over the cars begins to wash away. With a new person of interest in the Matterson case, we can now hopefully catch her killer and give her family some piece of mind…and then we can put all of our efforts into catching the Red John impersonator. The drive home is pleasant as the roads are clear and I am home in no time. Walking up to my front door, I find a note attached to my front door. Instantly, my legs become leaden and a weight drops in my stomach.

"Dear Patrick, there is something that I need to tell you that cannot tell you face to face. Killing Mr Doe was just the beginning and the next body will be found at the address below. I hope you will be a worthy opponent to me. You must be wondering why I have used the symbol of the serial killer Red John; he is my inspiration and I am his follower. One day, I hope to meet you in the flesh and look you in the eye, but until then, good day."

The letter is signed with the red smiley face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11.**

I double check the address on the letter before getting out of the car and into the dark night. The house used to belong to Brett Partridge, a man who we thought was Red John, and the charred remains of the house still stand in the middle of the street. The windows, which were blown outwards by the explosion have been boarded up and decorated in graffiti by local teenagers. The grass on the front lawn is mostly brown with sparse patches; it looks as if a ghoul has floated over the top and sucked all the life out of each crispy blade. Crunching up to the front door, I reach out to grab the handle, but a soft gust of wind sends the door backwards; the floorboards creak as I enter, the room is really dark so I turn on a flashlight and slowly scan the room with the beam. The walls and furnishings are burnt to a crisp, along with the once –I imagine - beautiful wooden floors, however, there is a smear of blood in the doorway which directs me forward. I follow the breadcrumbs until I will find the body. Nothing about the house screamed 'booby-trap' to me, so I didn't hesitate to go forward on the search or call for back up. Before I left the house, I made sure Teresa was alright – she was fast asleep – and collected a couple of things before leaving quickly. There was no need to wake her or call any officers for back up; the killer is an introvert, luring a member of the CBI somewhere just to kill them would be an error on their part.

I sweep each room carefully as I pass, just to make sure that the killer isn't sat behind a door or piece of furniture and waiting for me, but each search is fruitless and I only find a few singed pieces of furniture. The last room to search is the master bedroom, which seems to be right at the end of the landing on the second story. As soon as the door swings open, I know that this is where the body has been placed as a foul smell emerges from the room. A crack between two planks boarding up the window lets in a sliver of silver moonlight which cascades over the body-like form that lies on the bed and on the sickening symbol painted over the headboard. I approach cautiously whilst retrieving my phone from my pocket to call for back up. Respectfully, I use my beam to look over the body. The skin is mostly blackened with tarmac burns and smells of burnt tyre, it seems like he was hit by a car – I say _he_ because of the body's size – half of his chest is higher than the other and skin has been ripped away from various places. Speaking of ripped away, the body is missing a leg; the rough edge of the amputated limb looks to be removed the same way Mr Doe's arm was. So far I have avoided the most human part of the body: the face, slowly, I shine the light on his face only to feel light headed and sickened. Having worked with the CBI for more than ten years, I have seen my fair share of bodies; I can count the number of times that I have had to look away from a body on a single hand, this makes it number six. It's Charlie…the bastard killed Charlie!

Cops swarm the house for the second time in a year as both local PD and the CBI search the property; I had called Cho and informed him about…and he called in the cavalry. Everyone works in complete silence at the crime scene of a dead officer and stand respectfully as the body is taken away.

"Whoever did this is gonna pay," Cho tells us through gritted teeth as soon as the body has been loaded into the ME's van.

"I second that," Teresa matches his tone.

Neighbours who have been awoken by the flashing lights and noise from the patrol cars desperately try to sneak a peek inside the ruin and find out what has happened. As usual, the cops patrolling the entrance keep them back and say nothing, much to the disappointment of the onlookers. They part as a figure approaches the front door, and from out of the darkness, Agent Willis emerges.

"Sorry, traffic was a nightmare," she explains to us briefly in her usual over excited self, clearly none the wiser for the situation that we have found ourselves in, "what've I missed?" she scans each of over faces and her enthusiasm drops, "what?"

"It's Charlie, he's been killed," Lisbon tells her reservedly.

"What?! Oh my god, what happened?" she replies, each word tumbling over into the next.

"ME says that he was hit by a car, and then brought here," Cho adds, "thankfully, he was dead before they removed his leg."

"This is the same killer as John Doe, isn't it?" she answers.

We all nod in unison and then we take her upstairs to the bedroom where he was found.

"Who found him?" Molly asks.

"I did," I reply.

"How? This place is quite far out in the sticks."

"A letter was left on the door," I answer vaguely, before subsiding into silence, observing everyone.

"Why did the killer change their MO? The last one was found in an alley, right?"

"Yes, _John Doe_ was," Lisbon emphasises the name, knowing that referring to the victim by name keeps what they have left of their humanity.

"So why the sudden change? Confidence, maybe?"

"Maybe," Lisbon echoes, before leading the way into the room, which is still quite full of photographers, CSU technicians and Sac PD officers.

Molly quickly observes the handiwork on the wall before looking down at the bed.

"So boss, what's our first point of call?" she asks, not diverting her gaze from the mattress, which has patches of blood on it from its previous user.

"Let's account for his whereabouts this evening," Lisbon answers, "from there, we'll figure out what happened."

"What about his wife?" Cho asks.

"You and Molly go and inform her," she glances at her watch, "the later we leave it, the harder it'll be."

"Sure, boss," Cho answers before ushering Molly from the room and towards the stairs.

_Why would this serial killer go after him and kill him in such a horrific way? What did they have against him? A crime of opportunity maybe? Or did they do this to make us feel vulnerable? _The CBI has been under scrutiny for a number of months, maybe this is a hate crime or something like that…only it doesn't feel like it.

"Every serial killer has a motive," Teresa says, slowly travelling clockwise around the room, "so what's the story here?"

"The killer wanted us to find his body," I remind her, "they're playing with us, daring us to find them."

The 'eye to eye' part of the letter remains in my head, is this a thing that is above their control, were they forced to do this.

"Jane," Lisbon grabs my attention, "were you even listening?"

"Sorry," I apologise, "what were you saying?"  
She sighs and shakes her head, "I asked you: 'what were you and Charlie talking about earlier?'"

"He said…" I pause until the last person leaves the room, leaving Lisbon and me alone, "he had some sort of 'feeling', he felt that something was wrong but he didn't know what. He seemed like he had trouble trusting me, or anyone for that matter."

"Did he mention anything about the Doe case?"

"No, he really didn't say anything about that," I tell her everything that I know, "he only talked about that 'feeling' he was having."

"Do you feel that something is wrong?" she asks.

I ponder on the thought for a moment, I really should admit to her that a similar feeling has been manifesting in my stomach for a while, but without being able to pinpoint exactly what is wrong, it's going to be extremely difficult to explain. So instead, I compromise and answer "I'm not sure," and truth be told, I do think that something is amiss.

"Because if you know something…" Lisbon warns me.

"I know," I nod, "but that's all he told me."

"We'll have to look into his recent notes, did you find out anything before?" she asks me, referring to the notes that we had browsed earlier.

"Just a few pertinent leads on the Matterson case, but nothing new on our serial killer," I reply, "I also had a visit from Blake Horton."

"Really? What did he say?"

"That can wait for now," I absently turn to face the place where Charlie had been…although I hate to say it, dumped; "I made notes and put them on the murder board."

Walking around the room, avoiding the lights that the crime scene unit had placed to illuminate the place, I begin to recall the previous event that occurred here. The place engulfed in flames, highlighting the second stanza in William Blake's poem 'The Tyger'…I stop dead in my tracks…

"Jane? What is it?"

I pull out my phone and hastily dial Cho's number, after three rings, he answers.

"Cho."

"When the house was burnt down, what details were released to the press?" I bluntly ask him.

"Not much, why?"

"What was _exactly_?" I emphasise.

"That the house was burnt down due to a gas leak, if I recall correctly," he answers.

"Did anything about Red John ever get out?"

"No, we kept it out, I'm sure."

"Great, thanks," I reply before I press 'end call'.

"Jane, are you going to tell me what on earth is going on?" Lisbon impatiently addresses me.

"Our killer knew that this house had a connection with their idol," I tell her, "but how would they know that if that particular information wasn't leaked to the public?"

Realisation dawns on her, "our killer was in league with _him._"

"Or," I grimly continue, "the killer is a member of law enforcement."

At 6am, Lisbon and I walk into the packed bullpen and are met by an eerie silence as agents silently mourn at the loss of one of their own whilst pretending to go about their usual business. Whether it was the revelation that the killer may be amongst us, I begin to watch all of them cautiously; the only people that I can fully trust are Kimble, Molly and of course Teresa, everyone else just seems look as good as guilty this morning. As Lisbon approaches the blank murder board, every agent on the floor flocks in like sheep to listen.

"At approximately 1 o'clock this morning, Agent Charles Johnathan Fitz was found dead at the previous residence of Brett Partridge," she begins, turning away only to pin up a photo of our colleague and the former Red John suspect, "cause of death has been confirmed as a head on collision with a vehicle which forensics are working on now to determine the make and model. So far we have no witnesses to the collision or the location of where it took place."

"What about motive?" an agent calls out.

"The person who killed Agent Fitz is the same person responsible for the death of John Doe," Cho answers, "they left a letter on Jane's front door including the address of where the body was found."

"At the moment, we are waiting on footage from CCTV cameras near the first crime scene to see if we can identify the killer, until then, we have other leads to follow up on," Lisbon pauses before reluctantly telling agents to "search Fitz's car and desk."

"I'll catch up with that footage," Molly announces before retreating to her desk.

"Cho, Jane," she pulls us from the rest of the crowd and leads us into her office, "I want you two to follow up on the Matterson case; Jane, you said that you met with Blake Horton last night."

"He explained what really happened that night," I answer, "and I believe him."

"Follow up on that," she tells us, "at least one family can finally get some peace of mind," he gaze diverts through the glass and out across the bullpen to the new murder board, "whoever did this is going to suffer."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12.**

The sun just begins to rise over the horizon as Cho pulls up outside our interviewee's house, through the whole journey, we have remained silent in reflection of what happened last night. It still hasn't sunk in that we have lost one of our own...and to a Red John impersonator. There are many questions swimming around in my head, the most prominent thought is 'why? why was Charlie killed?' Hopefully, turning his desk and car inside out will give us some indication, as will the footage, but the last thing he said to me carries some significance, what if that 'funny feeling' he had had something to do with his death?

"Jane, we're here," Cho tells me, breaking the silence first.

Looking out of the window, I take in the change of scenery from the tall buildings in the city to the quaint houses lining the quiet streets. We step out of the car and head towards the largest house on the whole street. We pass three parked cars on the drive before arriving at the door, Kimball quickly glances at his watch, the minute hand just passes the hour mark making the time 6:01am, ad with a deep breath through his nose, he knocks three times on the white door. We wait patiently and in painstaking silence as we had been in the car on the way to this address. After a few thuds from inside, the door opens and a tall man appears. He looks at us blankly, his eyes slightly clouded over with tiredness and his sandpaper like skin that covers his jaw, peppered with wild stubble, hangs slack.

"Do you know what time it is?" he demands angrily.

"Mr Waters," Cho addresses him formally, "I'm Agent Cho with the CBI and this is my colleague, Patrick Jane." We both hold up our identification head height for him to examine. He wipes away the sleep from his eyes and pulls a pair of thin wire glasses from his dressing gown pocket and carefully reads the text on the ID, quickly glancing across from our faces then back to the cards - I assume to compare us to the photos.

"Okay," he says, before we put away our ID, "what can I do for you?"

"We're here to speak to your daughter," Cho tells him.

"Can I ask why?" Mr Waters replies, the hostility has now gone from his tone and has been replaced with respect.

"It's in relation to a recent case," is all I say, not wanting to say anymore.

"Of course," he backs away from the door and allows us to pass, "I'll just go and get her."

He leads us into the living room before disappearing up a flight of stairs. The room that we have been left in is very modern; a long 'L' shaped white leather sofa sits opposite a large 3D flat screen television, chrome is another main theme in the colour scheme with photo frames lining the walls, all containing professional photos of the family. Cho and I take a seat on two chairs which sit at one end of the sofa. As we descend onto the thin cushions, the white leather squeaks awkwardly in the silence between us.

"Sorry about the wait," Mr Waters apologises, ushering his daughter into the room, "honey, these agents are from the CBI, they want to speak to you ," after making sure that his daughter has sat down, he says "please excuse me, I have to get ready for work."

As soon as her father leaves, she turns to Cho.

"What do you want?" She snaps at him before turning to me, "oh, it's you," she addresses me with a flat tone of voice.

Wordlessly, Kimball pulls out an image of Olivia Matterson's body at the crime scene and places it in front of her.

"Eww," she makes some sort of pathetic and fake squeal, "that's gross!"

"The night Olivia died, your boyfriend Blake Horton came and spoke to you didn't he?" Cho calmly asks her.

"No," she retorts.

"Really?" I chime in, "I guess that he must have lied then because that is what he told us."

"He's lying," she answers patronisingly, "he's an idiot."

"So, what happened on that night?" Kimball prompts her.

"Nothing, I sat in my room completing my homework," she answers very coolly, as if she has told that lie too many times.

"Mind if we take a look at your car?" Cho suddenly changes the topic.

"No," she suddenly replies.

"Why?"

"It's not here," she blurts, "it had to go to the garage for repairs."

I turn to Cho and act the fool, "I swear that I saw three cars on the drive."

I turn back to her and see her cheeks gradually turning red.

"Where is it really, Carrie?" I ask her.

"The one on the end," she murmurs dejectedly as a tear dribbles down her cheek.

She stands and leads us through the hallway and to the front door where we are intercepted by her father.

"What's going on?" He asks, looking a little bewildered.

"Mr Waters please come with me," Cho tells him, gesturing to the front room; before he takes her father into the living room, he glances me and silently lets me know what he's doing. I nod back understandingly and continue to follow Carrie out the front door. She leads me to a small, bright pink Fiat 500 and unlocks it with the key.

"So, what happened?" I ask her.

"I don't have to say anything," she retorts, "why should I tell you anything?"

"It'd look better for you," I tell her, "'honesty is the best policy' as they say."

She begins to reply but then pauses hesitantly, before taking a deep breath and looking up from the paving slabs that line the drive.

"I...don't know," she answers calmly, "I...I was just so angry and...I hated her so much..." she pauses to clear her throat, "I found her on the edge of the wood and went full on at her, telling her to stay away from Blake, y'know, I was really over the top but I had every right to be! I just lost it and I shoved her, she banged it again against a tree and she collapsed. I panicked and thought of all the trace evidence that would be left on the body - I love cop shows - so I grabbed this bleach that I had in my car..."

I look at her quizzically.

"I know it looks like I planned it but I bought it for a project at school. I put it on her and the washed it away, and then I didn't want to leave her there, so I took her back into the woods and laid her peacefully. I swear I didn't mean to kill her but...I was scared," her whole demeanour has changed, the snarky tone has now gone from her voice and by the look in her eyes, I know that she is being honest with me.

"You are going to have to come with us back to the CBI," I tell her and she nods.

"I didn't want to kill her, please believe me…" her words fade into sobs, "Blake told me that she had hit her head, if I'd had just thought for one second, this might never have happened."

Kimball emerges at the door with Carrie's father in tow; the man looks in complete shock and is barely able to look at his daughter.

"How could you do that Carrie?" he asks her, looking out towards the street.

"Dad, please, I never meant for this to happen!" the girl cries back at him, begging for forgiveness, "Daddy please."

Her cry is heart breaking, but it is in our duty to take her back to CBI HQ with us; silently, Cho moves behind her and puts handcuffs around her wrist before taking her to the car. As we move away, I glance back at her father, who is still stood in the doorway holding back tears as his daughter is lead away; I could never imagine what the poor man is going through…

Cho, Carrie and I arrive back at HQ at around 7am, as I expected, the return trip was much the same as the first: completely silent - and to be honest, I'm glad; the last time that I slept was over 24 hours ago… the cushions on the sofa are extremely inviting, but even if I did manage to get some shuteye, all I would be able to think about is the body of our fallen colleague. The bullpen is even more full of life since this morning as more officer have been called in to work on the new case. Whilst Cho takes Carrie to one of the interrogation rooms to write her confession, I wander over to Molly and the murder board where fresh evidence has been written in bright red ink.

"How's it going?" I ask her.

"Good," she answers, her tone is a little off, "we're still waiting on forensics for the make and model of the car but the analysis will be here soon, and the ME is just confirming time of death. How did it go with the person of interest in the Matterson case?"

"She did it, she confessed," I tell her, "I'm just hoping that today will be a good day and we find both killers," I add, yawing.

"Jane," Molly briefly smiles, "go and get some sleep, I'll wake you if anything promising arises."

"I don't think that I could," I dismiss the idea, "anyway, how's it going with the CCTV?"

"It's slow progress, but I'm getting through it," she sighs, "it's hard though, not knowing exactly where the crime scene is."

"I'm sure you'll find it," I tell her, "do you want a cup of anything?"

"No, I'm good thanks," she replies before I head off to the break room.

As I make my way towards the door, I sneak a peek into Lisbon's office, all the blinds bar the ones on the door are drawn closed; she is sat at her desk opposite Baker, they are talking about something but the tiredness has weakened my lip reading skills. Determined not to be noticed by either one of them, I bid a hasty retreat into the break room which smells of strong coffee and waffles; the sink is overflowing with empty breakfast bowls and spoons. The kettle has been recently boiled and so all I have to do is retrieve a teabag from the cupboard along with my usual cup and saucer; the teabag is easily found…but my cup is nowhere to be found which is very bizarre and in its place…is Charlie's cup. It's going to take a while before it sinks in that Fitz is gone.

"Hey, I didn't know that you had got back," Lisbon startles me.

"Hi…yeah," I answer her disjointedly.

"You alright?" she asks.

"Yeah, it's just…" I move aside to show her the misplaced cup.

"Oh," is all she replies.

"Molly's updated me briefly, but what were you and Baker talking about?" I change the subject.

She looks around cautiously before saying "not here, not in public."

"What do you mean?" I inquire.

"Follow me," she replies and leads me into her office, drawing the blind on the door giving us complete privacy.

"He's worried that this reoccurrence of the famous serial killer will complicate further relations with the public," she tells me.

"Is it all that man cares about?" I comment, "but it's not _him_, _he _is dead."

"Well a copycat isn't going to exactly make them feel safe is it?"

"Why were these two victims killed? Have we found any link between Doe and…the other victim?"

"Not that we've found so far," Teresa answers.

"It's just seems a little random," I theorise, "think about it, two people who have nothing in common are killed by the same person who thinks that they are Red John. They are both killed in different ways and found at separate locations; the only similarity is at both crime scenes and that is the symbol."

"The first was staged, the second – hit by a car – that was an opportunity…but why? What was Charlie onto?"


End file.
